THE  FRENCH  CLASSICAL  ROMANCES 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


The 
French  Classical  Romances 

Complete  in  Twenty  Crown  Octavo  Volumes 
Editor-in-Chief 

EDMUND    GOSSE,    LL.D. 

With  Critical  Introductions  and  Interpretative  Essays  by 

HENRY    JAMES  PROF.    RICHARD     BURTON  HENRY     HARLAND 

ANDREW    LANG  PROF.    F.    C.    DE    SUMICHRAST 

THE    EARL    OF    CREWE  HIS    EXCELLENCY     M.    CAMBON 

PROP.    WM.    P.    TRENT  ARTHUR    SYMONS  MAURICE     HEWLETT 

»R.    JAMES     FITZMAURICE-KELLY  RICHARD     MANSFIELD 

BOOTH     TARKINGTON  DR.    RICHARD     GARNETT 

PROF.    WILLIAM     M.    SLOANE  JOHN    OLIVER     HOBBES 


JULES   SANDEAU 


MLLE.  DE  LA 
SEIGLIERE 


TRANSLATED    F>-OM    THE    FRENCH 


WITH    A    CRITICAL    INTRODUCTION 
BY    RICHARD    MANSFIELD 

A     FRONTISPIECE      AND     NUMEROUS 

OTHER        PORTRAITS        WITH 

DESCRIPTIVE   NOTES  BY 

OCTAVE     UZANNE 


P.  F.  COLLIER   &»  SON 
NEW    YORK. 


COPYRIGHT,     I90X 
BT     D.     APPLKTON     *    COMPANY 


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JULES   SANDEAU 


THE  French  saying  that  forty  lines  may  suffice  to 
bestow  literary  immortality  expresses  the  essence  of 
the  French  attitude  towards  art.  What  is  more,  its 
truth  has  proved  to  be  of  sufficiently  wide  application 
to  make  it  accepted  beyond  the  confines  of  the  coun- 
try where  it  was  born.  The  man  or  woman  of  one 
poem,  one  book,  one  play,  is  not  rare  in  the  annals 
of  the  literatures  of  the  world.  A  single  epigram, 
even,  has  sufficed  ere  now  to  preserve  a  name  from 
generation  to  generation. 

It  is  on  the  strength  of  one  single,  simple  story 
that  Leonard  Sylvain  Jules  Sandeau,  known  as  Jules 
Sandeau,  takes  his  place  among  the  masters  of  nine- 
teenth-century French  fiction  in  this  series.  He 
has  survived  among  the  more  generously  endowed 
writers,  the  volume  of  whose  excellence  has  gone  to 
the  creation  of  the  greatness  of  that  branch  of 
French  literature  in  the  century  that  also  saw  its 
rise,  because  he  succeeded,  just  once  in  his  career,  in 
writing  a  book  that  stands  unrivalled  and  alone  in  its 

i— Vol.  7  y 

672781 


Jules  Sandeau 


own  particular  field  and  period.  It  is  not  in  the 
grand  manner;  it  is  neither  majestic  tragedy  nor  im- 
mortal humour,  and  yet,  within  its  unpretentious 
limits,  it  has  the  elements  of  continued  life. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  some  doubt— considerable 
doubt,  in  fact — among  the  pundits  as  to  the  perma- 
nence of  Sandeau's  work,  at  the  time  of  his  death, 
in  1883.  Then  the  students  of  French  letters  hesi- 
tatingly agreed  to  recognise  the  chances  of  possible 
survival  of  his  Maison  de  Penarvan-,  but  the  great 
reading  public,  which,  after  all,  is  the  final  judge  in 
all  such  matters,  and  which,  after  all,  is  rarely  wrong 
in  its  verdicts,  decided  otherwise.  It  has  kept  alive 
to  this  day  the  fame  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere, 
never  hesitating  in  its  choice,  never  doubting  its 
wisdom,  because  never  failing  to  feel  the  charm  of 
the  book;  and  behold,  to-day  the  critics  and  the  his- 
torians of  literature  agree  with  it.  And  that,  too,  is 
often  the  way  in  the  world  of  art. 

Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere  is  the  best  picture  of 
the  heterogeneous  society  of  the  French  Restoration 
extant  in  the  country's  fiction.  It  paints  the  Mar- 
quis de  Carabas  without  exaggeration,  without  en- 
mity, without  desire  to  caricature;  it  exhibits  to  us  the 
charms  and  foibles,  the  honour  and  baseness  of  a  no- 
bility which,  like  its  returned  master,  had  forgotten 
nothing  and  learned  nothing  in  exile.  That  nobility 
brought  back  with  it  the  ideas  of  caste  and  govern- 

vi 


Jules  Sandeau 


ment  that  had  forced  the  people  of  France  into  revo- 
lution and  excesses;  the  twenty-six  years  of  the  re- 
public and  the  empire  had  been  for  it  but  a  horrible 
nightmare,  shaken  off  on  the  sunshiny  morning  of  the 
entrance  into  Paris  of  Louis  the  Desired.  It  could 
not  see  that  the  interregnum  had  produced  changes 
which  nothing  could  undo,  that  the  middle  class  was 
in  the  saddle.  At  first  resolved  to  ignore  this  new  or- 
der of  things,  it  did  not  attempt  to  fathom  its  depth, 
to  measure  its  strength,  to  appreciate  its  dangerous 
possibilities.  It  took  up  its  life  where  it  had  been 
interrupted  by  the  storm,  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, nothing  had  been  done.  It  found  a  strange 
body  of  laws,  the  Code  Napoleon,  which  hampered 
it  and  outraged  its  notions  of  the  fitness  of  things; 
all  dreams  of  a  revival  of  the  corvee  were  rudely 
shattered.  But  it  succeeded  in  renewing  at  least 
the  outwardness  of  its  ante-revolutionary  existence, 
the  old  courtly  life,  its  graces,  its  ruffles,  its  luxu- 
ries, its  superciliousness.  There  were  two  ways  of 
interpreting  Louis  XVIII's  saying,  "  Nothing  has 
changed;  there  is  only  one  Frenchman  more  in 
France,"  and  the  nobility  adopted  the  wrong  one. 
Of  course,  there  was  ever  the  dreaded  spectre  of  an- 
other revolution,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  many  were 
found  among  the  very  people  who  had  been  benefited 
by  the  upheaval  that  were  ready  to  worship  rank  and 
title,  to  be  captivated  by  the  suave  manners  that 

vii 


Jules  Sandeau 


could  hide  a  fathomless  contempt  when'  interest  dic- 
tated their  use;  and  in  the  countryside  there  was  a 
ready  revival  of  the  age-old,  inbred  respect  for  in- 
herited greatness. 

I  cannot  help  wondering  if  in  his  innermost  heart 
Sandeau  did  not  dearly  love  a  lord.  He  certainly 
was  captivated  by  the  distinguished  charm,  the  ex- 
quisite manners,  the  sumptuous  taste,  the  royal  art 
and  science  of  living,  the  very  insolent  pride  of  the 
erstwhile  masters  of  the  soil.  His  books  inevitably 
suggest  this  to  whoever  chooses  to  look  below  the 
surface.  He  revels  in  the  luxury  of  the  returned 
Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,  the  eighteenth-century  dain- 
tiness and  beauty  and  artificiality  of  the  Baronne  de 
Vaubert;  but  is  there  not,  after  all,  an  attraction  for 
most  of  us  in  these  polished  attributes  of  aristocracy? 
They  unquestionably  give  beauty  to  life,  the  beauty 
to  which  we  all  aspire,  which,  when  we  come  to  con- 
sider it,  has  always  been  the  heritage  of  the  masses 
at  a  later  date.  The  aristocracies  of  the  world  have 
ever  been  its  pioneers  in  the  art  of  living  the  ma- 
terial life  beautiful.  It  is  not  until  some  righteously 
indignant  son  of  the  soil  like  Carlyle  thunders  forth, 
or  some  master  of  humour  like  Mark  Twain  produces 
a  Yankee  at  King  Arthur's  Court,  that  we  realize  the 
enormous  cost  of  all  these  adornments  of  life  to  the 
mass  of  humanity  through  the  ages  of  the  old  dis- 
pensation. 

viii 


Jules  Sandeau 


And  here  observe  the  saving  clause  in  Sandeau's 
pleasure  in  the  polished  outwardness  of  the  noble  life. 
He  had  in  good  measure  the  sense  of  humour,  and 
it  enabled  him  to  retain  his  keenness  of  sight.  His 
aristocrats  are  mentally  and  morally  men  and  women 
like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  possessing  only  great 
tact,  infinite  resources  of  dissimulation  and  sophistry 
to  hide  the  sordidness  of  their  aims  and  to  make  it 
palatable  to  their  own  code  of  honour.  There  is  bit- 
ing satire  in  the  account  of  the  scheming  of  the  bar- 
oness, in  the  progress  of  the  marquis  towards  his 
changing  goal;  and  the  introduction  of  the  old  law- 
yer furnishes  an  opportunity  for  irony  that  is  utilized 
with  a  skill  rarely  excelled. 

The  peasant  who  makes  restitution  to  his  re- 
turned master  of  the  confiscated  estates  acquired  by 
him  is  neither  exalted  nor  scorned.  He  remains  a 
lout,  an  unpleasant  person  to  have  in  a  salon;  his 
generosity,  like  his  good  fortune,  is  the  result  of 
circumstances.  But  he  is  at  least  honest,  which' 
the  marquis  and  the  baroness  are  not.  Noblesse 
oblige  is  binding  on  them  only  in  their  dealings 
with  their  own  caste.  Meanwhile  they  are  people 
of  delightful  manners,  of  exquisite  taste;  and  M. 
Sandeau,  who  all  the  time  intends  to  frustrate 
their  plans,  is  grateful  to  them  for  that,  as  are  his 
readers.  The  people  who  are  historically  in  the 
wrong  are  often  romantically  in  the  right.  Wit- 

ix 


Jules   Sandeau 


ness  the  Cavalier  -  and  -  Roundhead  romances  of 
England. 

Writing  at  a  period  somewhat  later  than  that  in 
which  he  laid  the  action  of  his  story,  Sandeau  was 
able  to  give  it  a  touch  of  social  prophecy.  Inter- 
preting backward,  he  reached  conclusions  which 
since  have  come  markedly  true,  in  France  and  Eng- 
land especially.  The  wily  old  lawyer,  keeping  fiis 
ancient  enemy,  the  marquis,  squirming  on  the  burn- 
ing needle  of  his  sharp  tongue,  advised  him  to  seek 
security  from  harm  in  an  alliance  with  the  people; 
and  this  drawing  together  of  bourgeoisie  and  nobility 
has  been  taking  place  ever  since,  especially  for  finan- 
cial reasons. 

These  are,  it  appears  to  me,  the  secondary  causes 
of  the  survival  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere;  it  is  a 
socio-historical  document.  The  primary  cause,  the 
more  important  one,  lies  on  the  surface;  it  is  the 
same  as  that  discernible  in  all  enduring  successes  in 
fiction.  This  is  a  capital  story,  skilfully  planned,  and 
told  with  engrossing  spontaneity,  the  result  of  the 
polished  art  it  hides.  Its  plot  is  taken  from  the  more 
salient  minor  incidents  of  the  restoration  of  the 
Bourbons,  entwined  with  the  recurrent  consequences 
of  the  great  upheaval,  from  the  taking  of  the  Bas- 
tille to  the  retreat  from  Moscow;  its  characters  and 
incidents  are  results  of  all  that  momentous  quarter 
century.  But  underlying  it  all,  and  dominating  it. 


Jules  Sandeau 


is  the  eternal,  world-wide  human  motive  of  the  way 
of  love  with  a  man  and  a  maid,  which  never  loses  its 
charm.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere  is,  above  all  else, 
a  romance  of  delightful  simplicity  and  purity  of 
thought. 

Sandeau  had  suffered  early  in  life  at  the  hands  of 
the  wonderful  woman  of  genius  who  is  represented 
with  him  in  this  series — a  little  posthumous  irony  of 
fate.  His  later  existence,  subdued,  uneventful,  emo- 
tionless, indicates  that  the  fragrant  blossom  of  youth, 
its  crown  and  glory,  was  killed  in  his  breast,  never  to 
flower  again,  by  that  short,  stormy,  wretched  con- 
nection with  Mme.  Dudevant.  But,  though  the 
poetry  of  love  was  killed  in  his  heart  by  that  early 
experience,  Sandeau  kept  his  ideals  alive  and  sacred 
in  his  bosom.  What  he  himself  had  missed  he  would 
give  to  others,  in  all  its  beauty,  if  only  in  fiction. 
Disillusionment  had  not  embittered  him;  he  treas- 
ured the  delicate  flower  of  romance  to  the  end. 
Hence  the  freshness  of  the  charm  of  the  nascent  love 
between  Helene  de  la  Seigliere  and  the  returned  sol- 
dier-son of  the  peasant  in  this  story;  hence  its  firm 
grasp  upon  the  sympathies  of  the  reader;  hence  also, 
perhaps,  by  inevitable  reaction,  its  tragic  ending. 

The  workmanship  of  an  author  is  judged  by  his 
characters,  his  plots,  and  his  style,  the  relative  im- 
portance of  these  three  components  varying  accord- 
ing to  the  inclination  of  each  individual  reader. 

xi 


Jules  Sandeau 


Character  in  fiction  is  the  result  of  imagination  based 
upon  observation,  and,  in  its  best  presentation,  upon 
unerring  intuition;  plot  is  the  outcome  of  observa- 
tion plus  inventiveness;  style,  of  taste  plus  applica- 
tion. And  all  three  are  conditioned,  of  course,  by 
talent 

Sandeau  repeats  himself  time  and  again  in  his 
plots  and  characters.  He  had,  aw  fond,  but  one  story 
to  tell,  but  one  set  of  characters  to  employ,  and  he 
scrupled  not  to  borrow  upon  occasion  a  whole  pas- 
sage from  one  of  his  earlier  works  for  use  in  its  suc- 
cessors. His  inventiveness  was  apparently  of  thin 
texture;  his  critics  aver  that  he  was  simply  incurably 
indolent.  It  is  certain  that,  whether  from  an  uncon- 
querable unwillingness  to  stir  his  imagination  into 
activity  or  from  a  lack  of  resource,  he  became  a  spe- 
cialist, so  to  speak,  in  one  single  phase  of  the  chang- 
ing life  of  the  French  Restoration. 

Most  artists  of  the  second  rank  have  this  tend- 
ency to  use  time  and  again  the  material  that  has 
•erved  them  well;  some  cling  to  the  situations  and 
characters  of  a  first  success;  others  develop  them 
from  stage  to  stage  until  perfection  is  reached  in  an 
ultimate  production.  Sandeau  did  neither.  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Seigliere  was  neither  his  first  story  nor 
his  last.  With  him  the  fulness  of  fruition  came  after 
a  few  preliminary  attempts.  He  gave  in  this  book 
all  that  he  had  to  give  of  his  observation,  his  im- 

zti 


Jules  Sandeau 


agination,  and  his  inventiveness  at  their  best,  and  he 
wrought  surpassingly  well. 

He  was  not  incapable,  on  the  other  hand,  of  tak- 
ing infinite  pains  with  his  style.  Indeed,  on  occasion 
he  had  too  much  style;  he  worked  over  it  too  assidu- 
ously, too  anxiously,  maugre  his  reputed  indolence. 
He  polished  and  refined  until  the  result  was  artifi- 
ciality rather  than  art.  This  sin  of  commission  is, 
however,  hardly  discernible  in  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Seigliere.  To  be  sure,  we  find  in  it  such  flights  as 
"  les  hotes  de  nos  bois,"  when  game  is  meant;  the 
fact  that  it  is  midnight  is  classically  announced  thus: 
"  La  journee  touchait  a  sa  fin;  les  deux  aiguilles  de 
la  pendule  etaient  pres  de  se  joindre  sur  1'email  de  la 
douzieme  heure,"  but  these  are  imperceptible  blem- 
ishes in  a  tale  that  is  distinguished  throughout  by 
good  taste  and  direct  simplicity  of  narrative.  The 
occurrence  of  a  few  survivals  of  the  stilted  French 
literary  classicism  in  the  story  is  worth  noting  only 
because  Sandeau  began  life  as  a  follower  of  Victor 
Hugo,  an  enthusiastic  romanticist,  a  rebel  of  the 
rebels  against  the  shackles  of  tradition. 

He  certainly  was  a  master  of  landscape.  The 
smiling,  lowly  beauty  of  Le  Limousin,  La  Marche, 
and  Berry,  the  more  rugged  grandeur  of  Bretagne, 
La  Vendee,  and  Le  Bocage,  found  in  him  a  painter 
in  words  of  admirable  simplicity.  He  loved  nature 
and  understood  her.  Therefore  he  eschews  grandilo- 

xiii 


Jules  Sandeau 


quent  phrases  and  flamboyant  adjectives;  her  har- 
monies are  reflected  in  his  work.  He  was,  if  I  may 
be  allowed  to  coin  the  expression,  an  impressionist 
with  an  etcher's  needle.  The  opening  pages  of  this 
book  will  illustrate  my  meaning. 

The  popularity  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere  as 
a  novel  led  Sandeau  to  cast  it  in  dramatic  form.  The 
result  justified  him.  Produced  on  the  Paris  stage  in 
1851,  the  play  achieved  instant  success.  It  was  a 
good  play  in  its  day,  old-fashioned  now,  as  all  but 
the  greatest  work  must  become  in  the  course  of 
time;  but  it  had  a  more  enduring  result  in  Sandeau's 
collaboration  with  Augier  on  Le  Gendre  de  Monsieur 
Poirier,  produced  in  1854,  which  is  and  will  remain 
one  of  the  great  comedies  of  the  French  stage  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  It  but  sounds  another  change 
upon  the  subject  which  Sandeau  had  explored  in  all 
its  bearings  and  understood  to  perfection.  Hence 
its  merits,  which  brought  it,  besides  fame  and  popu- 
larity, the  sincerest  form  of  flattery  in  liberal  meas- 
ure. Many  have  been  the  Poiriers  on  the  French 
stage  since  its  appearance,  and  in  French  fiction,  too. 
Strange  to  say,  its  very  excellence  has  led  many 
students  to  the  conclusion  that  Sandeau's  famous 
collaborator  was  chiefly  responsible  for  its  writing,  a 
conclusion  that  cannot  be  seriously  maintained  if 
the  evidence  be  well  weighed.  For  the  Marquis  de 
Presle,  M.  Poirier,  the  plot,  the  alliance  with  the  rich 

xiv 


Jules  Sandeau 


bourgeoisie  sought  by  the  nobility  for  its  own  preser- 
vation, the  flattered  willingness  of  the  middle  class 
thus  to  ally  itself  with  the  great — all  this  is  San- 
deau's  own,  the  ripe  fruit  of  his  observation,  the  re- 
sult of  his  lifelong  study  of  his  own  little  corner  of 
the  world  around  him.  Whoever  reads  his  books 
carefully,  and  then  the  play,  can  reach  no  other  con- 
clusion. The  striking  harmony,  moreover,  of  the 
dialogue  with  plot  and  characters  suggests  that  at 
least  a  goodly  portion  of  that,  too,  must  have  been 
his  work.  Augier  was  a  gifted  dramatist,  sure  of  his 
place  in  the  literature  of  the  stage.  It  can  do  no 
injustice  to  his  reputation  to  assume,  on  the  strength 
of  this  inner  evidence,  that  in  the  case  of  Le  Gendre 
de  Monsieur  Poirier  his  work  was  confined  to  the 
technical  arrangement,  the  masterly  presentation  of 
the  brilliant  material  contributed  by  his  collaborator 
to  the  common  fund. 

Sandeau  was  born  at  Aubusson  on  February  19, 
1811,  and  destined  for  the  bar  by  his  family.  He 
began  his  legal  studies  in  Paris,  but  soon  fell  under 
the  influence  of  the  romanticist  movement  in  letters, 
then  at  its  height,  its  general  Bohemian  tendency, 
however,  being  probably  a  greater  attraction  to  him 
than  its  purely  literary  purposes.  If  he  was  ready  to 
follow  Gautier's  red  waistcoat  into  the  thick  of  the 
fray  over  Ernani,  he  was  even  readier  to  take  his 

xv 


Jules  Sandeau 


share  in  the  glorious,  inspiring  pastime  of  despising 
and  shocking  the  Philistines,  to  revel  in  noises  by 
night,  and  to  sing  under  their  windows  songs  ob- 
noxious and  insulting  to  the  probity  and  peaceful 
respectability  of  the  worthy  tradesmen  of  the  Quar- 
tier.  His  subsequent  career  indicates,  nevertheless, 
that  the  literary  side  of  the  revolt  was  not  without  its 
influence  upon  him. 

About  this  time — in  1830 — Sandeau  met  Mme. 
Dudevant  at  Coudray,  near  La  Chatre,  at  the  house 
of  friends.  A  mutual  attraction  was  the  immediate 
result,  and  when  she  left  home  it  was  to  join  him  in 
Paris.  They  collaborated  on  work  for  the  news- 
papers, and  in  the  production  of  a  first  novel,  Rose  et 
Blanche,  signed  "  Jules  Sand,"  which  became  the 
foundation  of  the  famous  pen-name  which  Mme. 
Dudevant  adopted.  It  was  all  she  retained  of  their 
two  years'  unhappy  union,  whose  dispiriting  influ- 
ence upon  Sandeau  endured  to  the  last.  He  was  her 
debut,  merely  the  first  episode  in  her  eventful  ca- 
reer; she  was  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  his  emo- 
tional life,  its  birth  and  grave. 

There  were,  of  course,  two  sides  to  the  question. 
There  always  are  in  affairs  of  this  kind.  There  were 
two  sides  to  the  Musset  episode,  and  the  Chopin  trag- 
edy. We  all  have  read  Elle  et  Lui  and  Lui  et  Elle; 
many  of  us  are  aware  of  the  existence  of  Chopin's 
little  allegory  of  the  White  Blackbird;  but  Sandeau's 

xvi 


Jules  Sandeau 


contribution  to  this  surprising  literature  of  the  emo- 
tional life  of  George  Sand  is  practically  forgotten. 
And  yet  Marianna  is  well  worth  reading  for  its  por- 
trait of  that  woman  of  genius;  it  is  in  the  fullest  sense 
what  in  these  later  days  of  objective  and  subjective 
mental  inquiry  we  have  come  to  call  a  "  psycholog- 
icarstudy  "  and  a  "human  document";  and  it  con- 
tains some  rememberable  pen  pictures  of  the  outward 
woman  as  she  appeared  to  him  in  the  days  of  her 
youth. 

George  Sand  told  the  whole  story  one  night,  to- 
wards the  end  of  her  days,  to  Balzac,  who  came  to 
visit  her  at  Nohant;  Balzac  told  it  to  Mme.  Hanska 
in  one  of  his  later  letters;  and  the  Vicomte  Spoel- 
bergh  de  Louvenjoul  gave  it  to  the  world  in  his  edi- 
tion of  these  epistles,  published  a  few  years  ago. 
Sandeau  was  indolent,  no  doubt;  he  would  not  help 
himself,  and  he  was  too  downright  lazy  to  let  others 
help  him.  It  was  misery  for  her,  no  better  than  that 
which  she  had  left  behind  her  under  the  conjugal 
roof.  Yet  it  takes  two  to  make  a  quarrel,  and  Au- 
rore  Dudevant  was  not  for  nothing  a  grand-daughter 
of  Maurice  de  Saxe.  I  certainly  doubt  if  it  was  quite 
so  much  a  case  of  the  eagle  and  the  crow  as  it  has 
been  represented  to  be:  Sandeau's  mental  inferiority 
to  her  can  hardly  have  been  so  striking  as  all  that. 
The  trace  of  the  Ouartier  Latin  was  still  over  his 
mind  and  his  habits  when  they  met  and  loved;  and, 

xvii 


Jules  Sandeau 


for  an  indolent  man,  he  certainly  achieved  a  respect- 
able amount  of  work. 

Their  rupture  sent  him  to  Italy,  whence  he  re- 
turned in  1834,  to  make  Paris  thenceforth  his  home. 
He  was  made  conservator  of  the  Mazarin  Library  in 
1853,  elected  to  the  Academic  Franchise  in  1858, 
and  appointed  librarian  at  the  Palace  of  St.  Cloud  in 
1859,  a  sinecure  which  gave  him  the  means  and  the 
leisure  to  devote  himself  undisturbed  to  his  literary 
labours.  Napoleon  III  often  rendered  such  services 
to  art  and  letters,  mostly  at  the  prompting  of  Morny. 
Sandeau  died  on  April  24,  1883. 

His  place  and  significance  in  the  romantic  move- 
ment of  his  time  are,  perhaps,  negative  rather  than 
positive.  That  movement  began,  in  France  as  in 
England,  with  mediaeval  history  in  fiction.  Hugo's 
Notre-Dame  de  Paris  was  its  notable  first  result;  but 
at  the  same  time  Stendhal  saw  the  value  of  the  pres- 
ent, of  the  Restoration,  as  material  for  fictional 
study.  Sandeau  followed  him  in  this  choice  of  sub- 
ject, but  whereas  Le  Rouge  et  le  Noir  is  of  less  value 
to  us  as  a  novel  than  as  a  study  of  the  earlier  emer- 
gence of  the  "  struggler  for  life,"  whom  Daudet  was 
to  take  up  at  a  later  date,  and  even  as  a  revelation 
of  Nietzsche's  Uebennensch  long  before  the  German 
philosopher  preached  his  coming,  an  unavoidable  re- 
sult of  the  new  order  of  things  evolved  out  of  the 
chaos  of  the  Revolution,  Sandeau  believed,  and  the 

xviii 


Jules  Sandeau 


faith  that  was  in  him  endures  to  this  day,  that  in  a 
novel  the  story,  the  romance,  is  of  paramount  im- 
portance. It  is  curious  to  observe,  by  the  way,  that 
in  the  closing  days  of  her  career  George  Sand  was 
converted  to  this  faith,  in  such  books  as  Le  Marquis 
de  Vilkmer  and  han  de  la  Roche,  stories  told  for  their 
own  sake,  and  for  the  simple  pleasure  they  gave  their 
readers. 

Romance  with  a  significant  historical  back- 
ground, this  was  what  Sandeau  gave  to  the  world,  his 
view-point  being  that  of  the  social  student  more  than 
of  the  social  psychologist.  Though  the  romantic 
movement  claims  him  chronologically,  it  is  perhaps 
best,  after  all,  to  set  him  apart  from  it  as  a  simple 
teller  of  tales.  The  later  evolutions  in  French  fic- 
tion moved  him  not;  neither  the  realism  of  Flaubert's 
Madame  Bovary,  nor  the  archaeological  erudition  of 
his  Salammbo,  affected  him;  he  saw  the  rise  of  natu- 
ralism in  the  Goncourts  and  Zola  without  swerving 
from  his  path;  the  third  empire  he  left  to  his  suc- 
cessors, notably  to  Daudet.  And  here  ends  the  list 
of  his  contemporaries,  for  Bourget  is  of  a  later  gen- 
eration. 

Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere  is  all  that  the  world 
has  cared  to  preserve  of  his  fiction,  but  to  that  it 
clings  with  real  affection.  A  brilliant  picture  of  a 
period  in  the  development  of  modern  social  life  in 
France,  the  book  owes  its  charm,  in  the  last  analysis, 

xix 


Jules  Sandeau 


to  its  happy  combination  of  what  is  merely  local  and 
temporary  with  the  universal  romance  of  the  youth 
of  mankind,  which,  repeating  itself  from  generation 
to  generation,  remains  ever  new  and  ever  fresh,  in 
fiction  as  in  life. 

RICHARD  MANSFIELD. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 


JULES  SANDEAU,  whose  baptismal  names  were  Leonard 
Sylvain  Jules,  was  born  at  Aubusson,  in  the  Creuse,  on  the 
ipth  of  February,  1811.  He  was  sent  to  Paris  to  study 
for  the  law,  but  during  his  holidays  in  the  year  1830  he 
went  over  to  Nohant,  and  met  George  Sand  (Madame 
Dudevant),  who  formed  an  intimate  friendship  with  him 
and  afterward  accompanied  him  to  Paris.  It  was  she 
who  first  encouraged  Sandeau  to  occupy  himself  with 
literature,  and  she  collaborated  with  him  in  his  first  novel, 
"  Rose  et  Blanche/'  1831.  This  intimacy  soon  came  to  an 
end,  and  in  later  life  the  two  novelists  met  at  a  publisher's 
without  recognising  each  other.  Sandeau  did  not  imme- 
diately pursue  the  path  of  novel-writing,  but  in  1834  he 
'published  "  Madame  de  Sommerville."  His  steady  activ- 
ity, however,  began  in  1839,  with  the  issue  of  "  Mari- 
anna  " ;  this  was  followed  by  "  Le  Docteur  Herbeau  "  in 
1841,  "  Fernand"  in  1844,  "Catherine"  in  1845,  "  Va- 
lor euse"  in  1846,  and  in  1848  what  is  Sandeau' s  best 
romance,  "  Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere"  Sandeau  never. 
took  any  part  in  politics,  but  he  acquiesced  in  the  Empire. 
He  now  turned  his  attention  to  the  stage,  collaborating* 
romanticist  as  he  was,  with  the  typical  enemy  of  Romanti- 
cism, £mile  Augier  (1820-1899).  They  wrote  three 

xxi 


Biographical  Note 


plays  together,  the  first  of  which,  "  La  Chasse  au  Roman" 
18^1,  is  not  remarkable;  the  other  two,  "La  Pierre  de 
Touche  "  (1854)  ana  "  Le  Gcndre  de  Monsieur  Poirier  " 
(1854),  are  admirable  comedies.  Augier,  however,  hav- 
ing made  this  experiment,  determined  in  future  to  return 
to  his  own  sphere  of  sarcasm  and  good  sense.  In  1853 
Sandeau  was  appointed  keeper  of  the  Masarin  Library 
in  Paris,  from  which  he  was  transferred  in  1859  to  the 
Imperial  Library  at  St.  Cloud,  a  post  which  he  held  until 
1871,  when  he  retired  on  a  pension.  The  later  novels  of 
Sandeau  were  " Madelaine"  (1848};  "  Un  Heritage" 
(1850);  "  Sacs  et  Parchemins  "  (1851);  "  La  Maison  de 
Penarvan"  (1858};  "  Un  Debut  dans  la  Magistrature " 
(1862) ;  "La  Roche  aux  Mouettes"  (1871);  and  "Do 
Thommeray"  (1873).  Sandeau  died  on  the  24th  o/j 
April,  1883. 

E.  G. 


xxii 


CONTENTS 


FACBS 


Jules  Sandeau  .........  v— xx 

Richard  Mansfeld 

Life  of  Jules  Sandeau   ......  xxi— xxii 

Edmund  Gasst 

Mile,  de  la  Seigliere I~3O7 

The  Portraits  of  Jules  Sandeau.     .     .  309-317 

Octavt  Uzanne 


xxiii 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA  SEIGLlfeRE 


CHAPTER   I 

SHOULD  it  ever  happen,  in  passing  through  Poi- 
tiers, that  one  of  the  thousand  little  accidents  that 
make  up  human  life  compelled  you  to  sojourn  an 
entire  day  in  that  city,  where,  as  I  suppose,  you  have 
neither  relations,  nor  friends,  nor  any  interest  that 
appeals  to  you,  you  would  infallibly  be  overtaken  at 
the  end  of  an  hour  or  two  by  the  sad  and  profound 
ennui  that  envelops  the  province  like  an  atmosphere, 
and  is  exhaled  more  particularly  by  the  capital  of 
Poitou. 

Throughout  the  entire  kingdom  I  know  no  other 
place,  save  Bourges  perhaps,  where  this  invisible 
fluid,  a  thousand  times  more  fatal  than  the  mistral 
or  the  sirocco,  is  so  penetrating,  and  so  subtle — in- 
filtrating one's  entire  being  in  the  most  sudden  and 
unexpected  manner.  At  Bourges,  moreover,  to  ex- 
orcise the  scourge,  you  can  make  pilgrimage  to  one 
of  the  finest  cathedrals  ever  erected  by  art  and  by 
the  Catholic  faith.  There  you  will  find  enough  to 
fill  you  with  admiration  for  a  week  or  more,  without 

3 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

counting  the  Hotel  de  Jacques  Coeur,  another  mar- 
vel, where  as  a  further  distraction  you  can  meditate 
at  your  leisure  on  the  ingratitude  of  kings. 

In  short,  along  these  deserted  streets,  where  the 
grass  grows  between  the  paving-stones  in  front  of 
those  vast  hotels,  sadly  retired  within  their  silent 
courts,  that  ennui  will  soon,  and  all  unconsciously, 
assume  a  character  of  melancholy  that  is  not  without 
its  charm.  Bourges  offers  the  poetry  of  the  cloister; 
Poitiers  is  a  tomb. 

Should,  therefore,  some  malevolent  genius,  some 
untoward  fate,  despite  my  heartfelt  vows  to  Heaven 
on  your  behalf,  arrest  your  steps  within  these  sombre 
walls,  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  quit  them  hastily. 
The  open  country  is  within  a  step;  the  environs, 
though  not  picturesque,  have  a  fresh  and  smiling 
aspect.  Go  to  the  banks  of  the  Clain.  The  Clain  is 
a  tiny  river  to  which  the  Vienne  yields  the  honour 
of  watering  the  capital  of  its  department.  The  Clain 
is  not  for  that  more  turbulent  or  more  proud. 
Equable  in  its  moods,  modest  in  its  ways,  it  is  a  de- 
corous brook,  with  no  affectation  of  pretensions  on 
passing  at  the  foot  of  a  royal  court,  an  episcopal  pal- 
ace, and  a  prefecture.  If  you  pursue  the  path,  walk- 
ing up-stream,  after  a  couple  of  hours  you  will  come 
upon  a  valley  moulded  by  the  circular  expansion  of 
two  hills,  between  which  the  Clain  has  carved  its 
bed.  Imagine  two  verdant  amphitheatres,  uplifted 

4 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

face  to  face,  and  separated  by  the  river  that  reflects 
them  both.  An  ancient  bridge,  with  arches  set  with 
moss  and  maiden-hair,  is  thrown  across  from  shore 
<to  shore.  At  this  spot,  the  Clain,  widening  with  the 
swelling  banks  in  which  it  is  embosomed,  forms  a 
basin  of  still  waters,  unruffled  as  a  mirror,  which 
might  indeed  be  taken  for  a  sheet  of  glass,  till  at  the 
weir  the  crystal  breaks  and  floats  in  iridescent  dust. 

To  the  right,  seated  proudly  on  the  uplands,  the 
Chateau  de  la  Seigliere,  a  very  jewel  of  the  Renais- 
sance period,  contemplates  the  bosky  windings  of  the 
park  beneath;  while  to  the  left,  on  the  opposite  bank, 
and  partly  hidden  by  a  grove  of  oaks,  the  modest 
Castel  de  Vaubert  seems  to  watch  the  superb  atti- 
tude of  its  opulent  neighbour  with  an  air  of  suffering 
humility. 

This  corner  of  the  earth  will  please  you,  and  if 
you  have  been  previously  told  the  story  of  the  drama 
enacted  in  the  theatre  of  this  peaceful  valley,  you 
may  perhaps  in  visiting  it  experience  something  of 
the  mysterious  charm  that  is  felt  on  revisiting  the 
sacred  scenes  of  history;  perchance  you  may  discover 
vanished  traces  on  this  velvet  sward;  perchance  you 
will  wander  to  and  fro  with  slow  and  dreaming  steps, 
invoking  here  a  shade,  and  there  a  memory. 

Sole  heir  to  a  name  destined  to  expire  with  him, 
the  last  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere  lived  royally  upon 

5 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

/MS  estates,  hunting,  keeping  up  great  style,  doing 
well  by  his  peasants  without  prejudice  to  his  privi- 
leges, when  of  a  sudden  the  soil  trembled,  and  a  hol- 
low rumbling  made  itself  heard,  like  the  sound  of  the 
sea,  when  it  is  about  to  be  uplifted  by  a  tempest.  It 
was  the  prelude  to  the  great  storm  that  was  on  the 
point  of  shaking  the  world.  The  Marquis  de  la  Sei- 
gliere was  in  no  way  troubled  by  it,  hardly  disturbing 
himself  at  all.  He  belonged  to  those  heedless  and 
charming  beings  who,  having  seen  nothing,  and  un- 
derstood nothing,  of  what  was  passing  around  them, 
allowed  themselves  to  be  surprised  by  the  revolu- 
tionary flood,  as  children  are  by  the  rising  tide. 
Whether  chasing  the  stag  in  mid-forest,  or  seated 
luxuriously  upon  the  cushions  of  his  carriage,  beside 
his  young  and  beautiful  wife,  enjoying  the  sensation 
of  driving  behind  his  galloping  horses,  under  the 
shade  of  his  trees,  over  the  sand  of  his  woodland 
alleys;  whether,  from  the  height  of  his  balcony,  he 
contemplated  with  pride  his  meadows,  cornfields, 
forests,  farms,  and  droves — in  fact,  from  whatever 
point  of  view  he  studied  the  social  and  political  ques- 
tion, the  present  order  seemed  to  him  to  be  so  per- 
fectly organized  that  he  did  not  admit  the  possibil- 
ity of  any  serious  consideration  of  replacing  it  by. 
something  better. 

At  the  same  time,  less  from  prudence  than  from 
good  form,  he  joined  in  the  first  emigration,  which 

6 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

was,  in  point  of  fact,  nothing  more  than  a  pleasure 
party,  a  trip  enjoined  by  fashion  and  fancy — a  mere 
matter  of  letting  the  rainy  day  go  by  and  giving  the 
heavens  time  to  clear  again.  Instead,  however,  of 
blowing  over,  the  shower  threatened  to  become  a 
deadly  storm,  and  the  heavens,  far  from  clearing, 
belched  clouds  of  blood,  and  discharged  themselves 
in  lightnings  and  thunder-bolts. 

The  marquis  began  to  perceive  that  matters 
might  be  far  more  serious,  and  last  much  longer  than 
he  had  at  first  anticipated.  He  hastily  returned  to 
France,  quickly  gathered  up  as  much  as  he  was  able 
to  realize  of  his  enormous  fortune,  and  hurried  oil 
to  join  his  wife,  who  was  waiting  for  him  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rhine.  They  retired  to  a  little  town 
in  Germany,  set  up  a  modest  household,  and  lived  in 
unadorned  mediocrity — the  marquise  full  of  grace 
and  resignation  and  of  touching  beauty,  the  marquis 
full  of  hope  and  confidence  in  the  future — until  the 
day  came  when  he  learned  in  a  succession  of  blows 
that  a  handful  of  scamps,  without  bread  or  shoe- 
leather,  had  not  scrupled  to  defeat  the  armies  of  the 
rightful  cause,  and  that  one  of  his  farmers,  Jean 
Stamply  by  name,  had  permitted  himself  to  buy,  and 
now  possessed,  as  his  own  and  lawful  property,  the 
park  and  chateau  of  La  Seigliere. 

So  long  as  Stamplys  and  La  Seiglieres  had  ex- 
isted there  had  always  been  Stamplys  in  the  service 

2— VoL  7  7 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

of  the  latter — so  much  so  that  the  Stamplys  had  good 
reason  to  boast  that  they  dated  from  as  far  back  as 
the  family  of  their  masters.  They  represented  one  of 
those  races  of  devoted  and  faithful  servants,  the  type 
of  which  has  disappeared  with  the  large,  seigneurial 
properties.  From  at  first,  from  father  to  son,  being 
simple  rangers,  the  Stamplys  had  become  farmers. 
Little  by  little,  by  dint  of  hard  work  and  economy, 
thanks  also  to  the  favours  of  the  chateau,  which 
never  failed  them,  they  found  themselves  eventually 
the  owners  of  a  certain  wealth.  No  one  knew  the 
exact  amount  of  their  fortune,  but  they  were  held  to 
be  richer  than  they  would  admit;  and  no  one  in  the 
country  was  surprised  when,  after  the  decree  of 
the  Convention  which  proclaimed  the  whole  of  the 
territory  of  the  emigres  to  be  national  property, 
the  abode  of  his  former  masters  was  knocked  down 
to  Jean  Stamply  at  the  auction.  Having  accom- 
plished this,  he  continued  to  live  on  his  farm  as 
before,  active,  industrious,  keeping  himself  to  him- 
self; buying  silently,  bit  by  bit,  at  the  lowest  prices, 
the  lands  that  had  already  been  sold  or  that  re- 
mained in  sequestration;  each  year  reuniting,  read- 
justing some  new  fragments  of  the  dismembered 
property. 

Finally,  when  France  was  beginning  to  breathe 
once  more,  and  tranquility  again  reasserted  itself, 
on  a  certain  fine  spring  morning  he  placed  his  wife 

8 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  son  in  the  wicker  carriage  that  was  his  custom- 
ary vehicle,  and,  seating  himself  on  the  shaft,  whip 
in  one  hand  and  reins  in  the  other,  set  out  to  take 
possession  of  the  chateau  that  formed,  as  it  were, 
the  capital  of  his  little  kingdom. 

This  taking  possession  was  less  triumphant  and 
less  joyous  than  you  might  be  pleased  to  suppose. 
In  passing  through  those  vast  apartments,  to  which 
desertion  had  lent  a  grave  and  solemn  character — 
beneath  those  ceilings,  upon  those  parquets,  between 
those  wainscots  still  impregnated  with  the  memory 
of  the  ancient  owners,  Mme.  Stamply,  who  was  in 
last  resort  nothing  but  a  worthy  farmer's  wife,  felt 
singularly  troubled.  When  she  found  herself  before 
the  portrait  of  the  marquise,  whom  she  at  once  rec- 
ognised by  her  gay  and  gracious  smile,  the  good 
woman  could  no  longer  contain  herself.  Stamply 
himself  could  not  shake  off  a  strong  emotion  that  he 
did  not  try  to  dissimulate. 

"  See,  Jean,"  said  his  wife,  drying  her  eyes,  "  do 
not  let  us  stay  here;  we  should  be  uneasy.  Already  I 
feel  ashamed  of  our  fortune,  when  I  think  that  Mme. 
la  Marquise  may  perhaps  be  enduring  misery.  It  is 
all  very  well  to  tell  myself  that  we  have  worked  hard 
for  this  good  luck;  I  feel  almost  remorseful  about  it. 
Does  it  not  seem  to  you  that  these  portraits  are 
watching  us  with  an  air  of  irritation,  and  are  on  the 
verge  of  speaking?  Let  us  go.  This  chateau  was 

9 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

not  built  for  us;  we  should  have  bad  nights  in  it 
Believe  me,  it  is  already  too  much  that  we  should 
want  for  nothing,  while  there  are  La  Seiglieres  in 
misery.  Come,  let  us  go  back  to  our  farm.  Your 
father  died  there;  your  son  was  born  there;  it  is 
there  that  we  have  lived  happily.  Let  us  continue  to 
live  our  simple  life.  Honest  people  will  be  pleased 
with  us,  the  envious  will  respect  us;  and  God,  seeing 
that  we  enjoy  our  riches  with  modesty,  will  behold 
us  without  anger,  and  will  bless  our  fields  and  our 
little  Bernard." 

Thus  the  farmer's  wife,  for  her  heart  was  in  the 
right  place,  and  though  she  had  no  education  to  start 
with,  she  was  a  woman  of  good  sense  and  sound 
judgment.  Seeing  that  her  husband  was  listening  to 
her  thoughtfully,  and  appeared  on  the  verge  of  yield- 
ing, she  doubled  her  entreaties;  but  Stamply  soon 
got  the  upper  hand  of  the  emotion  that  he  had  at 
first  been  unable  to  repress.  He  had  received  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  instruction,  and  had  rubbed  up 
against  the  new  ideas.  While  retaining  some  meas- 
ure of  respect  and  even  of  gratitude  for  the  Marquis 
de  la  Seigliere,  though  less  than  for  the  marquise, 
in  proportion  as  he  had  grown  richer,  the  instincts 
of  the  proprietor  had  gained  upon  him,  and  of  late 
had  finally  invaded  and  absorbed  him.  Moreover, 
he  had  a  child,  and  children  are  at  all  times  a  mar- 
vellous pretext  for  encouraging  and  legitimizing 

10 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

any  family  excesses  of  egoism,  and  abuses  of  per- 
sonal interest. 

"  All  that  is  well  and  good,"  he  said  in  his  turn, 
"  but  a  chateau  is  made  to  be  inhabited,  and  you 
surely  don't  suppose  we  have  bought  this  one  in 
order  to  pen  up  our  sheep  and  cattle  in  it.  If  our 
masters  have  left  the  country,  it  is  not  our  fault;  it 
is  not  we  that  have  outlawed  their  persons  and  se- 
questered their  goods.  We  have  not  stolen  this 
property;  we  hold  it  in  virtue  of  our  labour,  and 
from  the  nation.  There  are  no  more  masters;  all 
titles  have  been  abolished,  all  Frenchmen  are  free 
and  equal,  and  I  do  not  know  why  the  Stamplys 
should  sleep  less  well  here  than  the  La  Seiglieres." 

"  Hush,  hush,  Stamply!  "  cried  the  farmer's  wife. 
"  Respect  misfortune;  do  not  outrage  the  family  that 
has  nourished  yours  from  all  time." 

"  I  do  not  outrage  any  one,"  replied  Stamply,  a 
little  confused.  "  I  only  say  that  even  if  we  went 
on  living  at  the  farm  it  in  no  way  alters  the  ques- 
tion; as  far  as  I  can  see,  there  are  only  rats  here  to 
profit.  It  is  true  that  we  are  only  peasants.  I  admit 
that  our  education  and  our  position  do  not  harmo- 
nize; but  if  we  suffer  from  that  we  must  take  care  that 
our  son  does  not  pay  for  it  also  in  his  turn.  It  is  our 
duty  to  bring  him  up  in  the  position  which  our  for- 
tune will  permit  him  to  take  up  later  on.  Shall  you 
want  much  pity  when  you  see  that  monkey  Bernard 

ii 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

with  a  sword  at  his  side  and  two  gold-beaded  epau- 
lets? And  for  yourself,  why,  I  should  like  to  know, 
at  the  end  of  the  chapter,  should  you  not  become, 
like  Mme.  la  Marquise,  the  providence  of  this  coun- 
try-side, and  the  ornament  of  the  chateau?  " 

"  If  our  son  does  not  grow  up  in  a  chateau  he  will 
have  all  the  more  stuff  in  him,  and  when  Mme.  la 
Marquise  abandoned  her  dwelling  she  did  not  leave 
the  secret  of  her  beauty  and  her  grace  behind  her," 
replied  the  good  woman  stoutly,  tossing  her  head. 
"  Look  you,  Stamply,  those  people  had  something 
which  will  always  be  wanting  in  ourselves;  you  may 
rob  them  of  their  lands,  but  you  will  never  take  that 
other  thing  from  them." 

"Well,  then,  we  shall  do  without;  let  them  keep 
it,  and  much  good  may  it  do  them.  At  all  events, 
here  we  are  at  home,  and  here  we  are  going  to 
stay." 

What  was  said  was  done.  The  season  was  verg- 
ing on  that  of  spring,  the  first  of  the  century.  Little 
Bernard  was  at  most  eight  years  old.  He  was,  in 
the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  an  urchin,  eminently 
endowed  with  all  the  charms  of  his  age — noisy,  ob- 
stinate, romping,  unmanageable,  hanging  on  to  all 
the  rascals  of  the  village,  alternately  beating  and 
being  beaten,  never  returning  home  without  a  torn 
waistcoat  or  a  bruise  on  his  face.  In  the  first  place 
Stamply  procured  a  tutor  for  this  amiable  child ;  then, 

12 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

intrusting  to  a  pedagogue  the  charge  of  making  him 
into  a  man,  prepared  to  enjoy  peacefully  and  unos- 
tentatiously the  position  he  had  made  for  himself  by 
the  co-operation  of  his  own  labour  and  of  events. 
Unfortunately  it  was  inscribed  above  that  his  life  was 
to  be  one  long  and  seldom  intermitted  series  of 
mortifications,  tribulations,  and  of  appalling  mis- 
fortunes. 

At  the  outset,  young  Stamply  showed  himself  as 
rebellious  as  he  could  to  the  benefits  of  education; 
not  that  he  was  wanting  in  intelligence  and  aptitude, 
but  inasmuch  as  he  had  an  untamable  nature,  the 
turbulent  instincts  of  which  stifled  or  contradicted 
all  the  rest. 

He  wore  out  the  patience  of  three  tutors  in  suc- 
cession, till,  weary  of  the  struggle,  they  relinquished 
the  task  after  losing  their  Latin  over  it.  Himself 
discouraged,  Pere  Stamply  resolved  on  placing  his 
son  in  one  of  the  Paris  lycees,  hoping  that  banishment, 
dry-bread  impositions,  and  the  military  regime  which 
governed  the  colleges  at  that  period  would  overcome 
the  nature  of  the  cherub.  The  separation  was  not 
effected  without  laceration.  Such  as  we  have  de- 
scribed him,  Bernard  was  the  love,  the  pride,  and 
the  joy  of  his  mother.  When  she  saw  him  go,  the 
worthy  woman  felt  that  her  heart  was  breaking; 
when  she  took  him  in  her  arms  at  the  hour  of  part- 
ing, she  had  a  kind  of  presentiment  that  she  would 

13 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

never  see  him  again,  and  that  she  was  embracing 
him  for  the  last  time. 

And,  in  fact,  the  poor  mother  was  destined  never 
to  see  her  son  again.  Her  health  had  altered  per- 
ceptibly. Accustomed  to  work  on  the  farm,  the 
idleness  of  her  life  devoured  her.  By  day  she  wan- 
dered like  a  soul  in  purgatory  through  her  apart- 
ments; at  night,  when  she  succeeded  in  sleeping,  she 
dreamed  that  she  saw  the  Marquise  de  la  Seigliere 
asking  alms  at  the  door  of  her  chateau.  There  was 
no  one  but  Bernard  to  make  a  cheerful  movement 
around  her,  a  little  life  and  gaiety.  When  the  house 
no  longer  rang  with  his  joyous  voice,  and  the  farm- 
er's wife  no  longer  had  her  little  Bernard  at  hand, 
to  enliven  and  distract  her,  she  felt  overcome  with 
sombre  melancholy,  and  ere  long  began  to  pine 
away.  It  was  some  time  before  her  husband  no- 
ticed it.  He  had  kept  up  his  habits  of  work  and 
of  activity.  He  was  rarely  at  home,  roamed  in- 
cessantly over  hills  and  valleys,  kept  an  eye  on 
everything,  and  sometimes  gave  himself  the  satis- 
faction of  shooting  a  few  hares  and  partridges  on 
the  estates  where  his  ancestors  had  guarded  the 
seigneurial  game.  At  last,  however,  he  remarked 
the  languid  condition  of  the  sad  and  humble  chat- 
elaine. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  "  he  said  some- 
times. "  You  ought  to  be  a  happy  woman.  What 

14 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

do  you  want?  What  is  missing?  Tell  me  what  you 
desire." 

"Alas!"  she  would  reply,  "I  miss  the  modest 
comfort  of  our  former  days.  I  should  like  to  milk 
our  cows  and  churn  our  butter  as  of  old.  I  should 
like  to  make  soup  for  our  shepherds  and  our  farm- 
hands; I  want  to  see  my  little  Bernard  again;  I 
would  like  to  bring  our  eggs,  our  cream,  our  steam- 
ing milk  here  every  morning.  Don't  you  remember, 
Stamply,  how  much  Mme.  la  Marquise  used  to  like 
our  cream!  Who  knows  if  the  dear  soul  has  any  so 
good  nowadays?  " 

"Tut!  tut!"  replied  Stamply;  "cream  is  cream, 
all  the  world  over.  You  may  be  sure  that  Mme.  la 
Marquise  wants  for  nothing.  The  marquis  did  not 
go  off  empty-handed,  and  I  will  take  my  oath  that  he 
has  more  good  louis  d'or  in  his  strong  drawer  than  the 
rest  of  us  have  wretched  crown  pieces.  If  he  didn't 
carry  off  his  chateau,  park,  and  lands  in  his  port- 
folio we  can't  help  that;  it  is  no  use  finding  fault  with 
us  on  that  account.  As  to  your  little  Bernard,  you 
will  see  him  fast  enough;  the  scamp  is  not  dead. 
Think  you  that  instead  of  sending  him  off  to  study 
and  to  get  his  education,  it  would  have  been  more 
reasonable  to  keep  him  here  to  look  for  birds'-nests 
in  the  summer,  and  in  winter  to  play  snowball  with 
all  the  good-for-nothings  of  the  country?  " 

"  No  matter,  Stamply,  this  is  not  our  place, 
IS 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  it  was  an  evil  day  on  which  we  quitted  our 
farm." 

On  hearing  these  words,  which  were  repeated  in- 
cessantly in  every  conversation  with  his  wife,  Stamply 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  departed  in  a  bad  tem- 
per. The  evil,  however,  grew  apace.  Enfeebled  in 
mind,  with  a  timid  conscience,  the  poor  chatelaine 
soon  began  to  ask  herself  in  terror  if  her  husband 
had  not  cheated  her,  if  the  thing  had  been  accom- 
plished as  honestly  as  he  said,  if  it  were  true  that 
all  this  wealth  had  been  legitimately  acquired,  and 
that  the  chateau  had  no  reproach  to  make  against 
the  probity  of  the  farm.  Thanks  to  her  perpetual 
preoccupation,  she  passed  promptly  from  doubt  to 
conviction,  from  scruple  to  remorse.  Thenceforward 
she  atrophied  under  the  notion  that  Stamply  had 
stolen  from  his  masters,  and  traitorously  dispossessed 
them.  In  a  little  while  this  became  a  monomania, 
which  gave  her  neither  peace  nor  rest.  Notwith- 
standing all  the  efforts  of  her  husband  to  convince 
her  that  she  was  mad,  her  mania  developed.  At  this 
stage  Stamply,  who  thought  he  would  be  driven  out 
of  his  own  senses,  found  himself  obliged  to  shut  her 
up  and  keep  watch  over  her,  for  she  went  all  over 
the  place  repeating  that  her  husband,  herself,  and 
her  son  were  nothing  but  a  family  of  rogues,  bandits, 
and  extortioners.  She  died  in  a  state  of  excitement 
impossible  to  describe,  believing  that  she  heard  the 

16 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

police  coming  to  arrest  her,  and  imploring  her  hus- 
band to  give  back  to  the  La  Seiglieres  their  chateau 
and  the  whole  demesne — "  happy,"  she  added  with 
her  last  breath,  "  if  he  could  at  this  price  save  his 
head  from  the  scaffold,  and  his  soul  from  eternal 
fire." 

Maitre  Stamply  was  not  altogether  one  of  the 
strong-minded.  Apart  from  the  grief  he  felt,  the 
death  of  his  wife  affected  him  strangely.  Although 
he  pretended  to  a  certain  disdain  for  the  aristocracy, 
at  bottom  he  cherished  a  fund  of  antiquated  venera- 
tion for  the  masters  he  had  replaced;  and  though, 
on  questioning  his  conscience,  he  had  judged  himself 
blameless,  he  could  not  help  being  often  troubled 
at  the  remembrance.  Still,  the  funereal  impressions 
once  dispersed,  he  pursued  the  tenor  of  his  life,  and 
set  all  his  thoughts  and  his  ambitions  upon  his  ab- 
sent son. 

At  sixteen,  when  his  education  was  completed, 
Bernard  came  home.  He  was  then  a  fine  young 
man — tall,  slender,  with  a  fiery  heart,  a  lightning 
glance,  filled  with  the  ardent  impulses  of  his  age, 
and  still  further  stimulated  by  the  bellicose  influ- 
ence of  an  epoch  enamoured  of  glory  and  combat. 
Till  now  the  life  at  the  chateau  had  not  differed 
greatly  from  that  at  the  farm.  After  the  return  of 
Bernard,  everything  took  on  a  different  complexion. 
Ignorant  of  the  facts  of  the  past,  having  but  a  vague 

17 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

memory  of  the  La  Seiglieres,  with  a  confused  idea 
of  the  events  that  had  enriched  him,  this  young  man 
could  enjoy  the  advantages  of  his  position  without 
scruple,  without  trouble,  and  without  remorse. 
Young,  he  had  all  the  tastes,  all  the  instincts  of 
youth.  He  hunted,  rode  his  horses  to  death,  aston- 
ished the  country-side  by  the  luxury  of  his  equi- 
pages, and  did  his  best  to  scatter  the  parental  fortune 
— all  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the  worthy  Stamply, 
who  was  beside  himself  with  pleasure  at  recognising 
in  his  son  these  manners  of  a  grand  seigneur.  Noth- 
ing could  have  been  better,  when  Bernard  went  one 
morning  to  look  for  his  father,  and  delivered  himself 
as  follows: 

"  Father,  I  love  you,  and  ought  to  be  happy  in 
merely  passing  my  life  beside  you.  Yet  I  am  weary, 
and  my  one  wish  is  to  go  away.  What  can  you  ex- 
pect? I  am  eighteen,  and  it  is  shameful  to  waste 
one's  powder  on  rabbits,  when  one  might  consume  it 
gloriously  in  the  service  of  France.  The  existence  I 
am  leading  stifles  and  kills  me.  Night  after  night 
I  see  the  Emperor,  on  horseback,  at  the  head  of  his 
battalions,  and  start  up,  thinking  that  I  hear  the 
sound  of  cannon.  The  hour  has  struck  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  my  dream.  Would  you  rather  see 
my  youth  consumed  in  vain  pleasures?  If  you  love 
me  you  ought  to  be  proud  in  your  tenderness.  Do 
not  weep.  Smile  rather  in  thinking  of  the  happiness 

18 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

of  the  return.  What  joy,  indeed!  what  revels!  I 
shall  come  back  a  colonel.  I  shall  hang  my  cross  up 
by  your  bedside,  and  at  night,  at  the  corner  of  the 
fire,  I  shall  tell  you  about  my  battles." 

And  the  cruel  boy  went  off.  Neither  remon- 
strances, nor  tears,  nor  prayers  could  keep  him  back. 
At  that  epoch  they  were  all  the  same.  Soon  his 
letters  were  arriving  like  glorious  bulletins,  all  ex- 
haling the  smell  of  powder,  all  written  the  day  after 
a  battle.  Enlisted  as  volunteer  in  a  cavalry  regi- 
ment, non-commissioned  officer  after  the  battle  of 
Essling,  officer  a  month  later,  after  the  battle  of 
.Wagram,  he  was  noticed  by  the  Emperor,  he  ad- 
vanced in  strides,  pushed  on  by  the  demon  of  glory. 
He  was  one  of  those  who  proved,  after  Puisaye,  that 
one  practical  year  is  worth  more  than  all  manoeuvres 
and  apprenticeships  on  parade.  Each  of  his  letters 
was  a  hymn  to  the  war  and  to  the  hero  who  was  its 
god.  When  at  the  beginning  of  1811  his  regiment 
came  to  Paris,  Bernard  profited  by  a  few  days'  holi- 
day to  go  and  embrace  his  father.  How  charming  he 
was  in  his  uniform  as  lieutenant  of  hussars!  How 
well  the  blue  dolman  with  its  silver  braiding  showed 
off  the  elegance  of  his  figure,  slim  and  supple  as  the 
shoot  of  a  young  poplar!  How  gallantly  he  wore 
the  fur-bordered  pelisse  across  his  shoulder!  How 
proudly  the  brown  mustache  curled  away  from  his 
fine  and  rosy  lip!  How  magnificent  he  looked  with 

19 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

his  big  sabre,  and  what  a  noise  the  parquet  made 
under  his  sounding  spurs!  Stamply  never  tired  of 
looking  at  him  with  a  feeling  of  naive  admiration, 
kissing  his  hands  the  while,  and  wondering  if  this 
could  really  be  his  own  offspring. 

Like  the  setting  sun,  the  imperial  star  was  shin- 
ing with  its  most  brilliant  light,  when  a  mortal  shud- 
der passed  through  the  heart  of  France.  An  army  of 
500,000  men,  among  whom  the  mother-country  reck- 
oned 270,000  of  her  strongest  and  most  valiant  sons, 
had  just  passed  the  Niemen  to  strike  a  blow  at  Eng- 
land through  the  icy  breast  of  Russia.  Bernard's  regi- 
ment formed  part  of  the  cavalry  reserve  commanded 
by  Murat.  A  letter  dated  from  Wilna  was  received 
at  the  chateau,  and  then  another,  in  which  Bernard 
related  that  he  had  been  made  a  major  after  the 
affair  at  Volontina,  then  a  third;  after  that,  nothing. 
Days  and  weeks  and  months  went  by;  no  news 
came.  It  was  only  known  that  a  battle,  the  most 
terrible  of  modern  times,  had  been  fought  in  the 
plains  of  the  Moskova,  the  victory  having  cost 
20,000  men  to  the  French  army.  Twenty  thou- 
sand men  killed,  and  no  letters!  The  Emperor  is 
at  Moscow,  but  there  are  no  letters  from  Bernard. 
Stamply  still  hopes;  he  tells  himself  that  it  is  a  far 
cry  from  the  Chateau  de  la  Seigliere  to  the  Krem- 
lin, and  that  at  such  distances  the  postal  service 
could  not  be  very  regular,  above  all  in  time  of  war. 

20 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Then  sinister  reports  begin  to  circulate;  very  soon 
these  dull  rumours  change  into  a  cry  of  terror,  and 
mourning  France  counts  in  stupefaction  the  little 
remaining  to  her  of  her  legions.  What  was  happen- 
ing at  the  chateau?  What  happened,  alas,  in  all 
the  poor  distracted  hearts  that  were  seeking  a  son 
in  the  ranks  that  had  been  thinned  by  cold  and 
grape-shot?  When  Stamply  at  last  made  up  his  mind 
to  address  inquiries  to  the  Minister  of  War  in  order 
to  ascertain  the  fate  of  Bernard,  he  had  not  long 
to  wait  for  an  answer.  Bernard  had  been  killed  at 
the  battle  of  the  Moskova. 

Grief  does  not  kill.  Stamply  still  stood  erect. 
Only  he  aged  by  twenty  years  in  the  course  of  a 
few  months,  and  was  for  some  time  steeped  in  a  sort 
of  melancholy  resembling  imbecility.  He  was  to  be 
met,  in  sunshine  or  in  rain,  wandering  across  his 
fields,  bareheaded,  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  that 
vague  and  uncertain  smile  that  is  sadder  and  more 
heart-breaking  than  tears.  When  he  emerged  from 
this  state  the  poor  old  man  began  by  slow  degrees 
to  notice  what  he  had  never  stayed  to  think  about 
before — the  fact,  namely,  that  he  had  round  him 
neither  friendships  nor  relations  of  any  kind,  and  that 
he  was  living  in  absolute  isolation.  He  even  fancied 
himself  an  object  of  contempt  and  of  general  repro- 
bation in  the  country. 

And,  in  truth,  this  had  been  the  case  for  many 
21 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

years.  As  long  as  the  Terror  lasted,  and  while 
Maitre  Stamply  remained  modestly  on  his  farm,  the 
neighbours  round  had  paid  little  attention  to  his  for- 
tune and  successive  acquisitions.  But  when  calmer 
days  succeeded  to  that  time  of  frenzy,  and  the  farm- 
er had  installed  himself  publicly  in  the  seigneurial 
chateau,  people  began  to  open  their  eyes.  When, 
finally,  armorial  bearings  and  titles  reappeared  on 
the  waters,  like  the  debris  from  the  flood,  a  formida- 
ble concert  of  abuse  and  calumny  was  hurled  from  all 
sides  against  the  unhappy  chatelaine.  What  they  said! 
What  did  they  not  say?  Some  that  he  had  thieved, 
had  ruined,  expelled,  and  dispossessed  his  masters. 
Others  that  he  had  only  been  the  secret  agent  of  the 
marquis  and  marquise,  and  that  by  an  abuse  of  their 
confidence  he  refused  to  give  up  the  lands  and  cha- 
teau that  he  had  bought  back  with  the  money  of  the 
La  Seiglieres.  The  worthy  souls,  who  in  '93  would 
have  rejoiced  to  see  the  marquis  lose  his  head,  now 
took  to  chanting  his  praises,  and  wept  over  his  exile. 
The  fools  and  rogues  enjoyed  themselves  to  their 
hearts'  content;  even  in  the  eyes  of  honest  people 
the  probity  of  the  Stamplys  was,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  equivocal.  The  sad  end  of  the  good  mistress  of 
the  farm,  the  remorse  by  which  she  was  consumed 
in  her  latter  days,  gave  weight  to  the  most  outrage- 
ous suppositions.  Bernard's  mode  of  life  during  his 
stay  with  his  father  had  put  the  finishing  touches 

22 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

to  the  general  envy.  In  Poitiers  and  in  the  environs 
the  hue  and  cry  had  been  universal.  Even  the  death 
of  the  young  man  afforded  merely  a  fresh  pretext  for 
insult;  people  recognised  in  it  the  expression  of  di- 
vine anger,  the  expiation,  richly  merited,  yet  all  too 
mild,  in  the  eyes  of  some  of  the  judges.  Far  from 
pitying  Stamply,  they  overwhelmed  him;  instead  of 
being  softened  at  his  fate,  they  flung  the  corpse  of 
his  son  at  his  head. 

So  long  as  Bernard  had  lived,  and  while  Stamply 
was  absorbed  in  his  paternal  joy  and  pride,  he  had 
not  merely  failed  to  notice  the  kind  of  reprobation 
that  was  hanging  over  him,  but  had  further  no  sus- 
picion of  the  calumnies  spread  abroad  as  to  his  af- 
fairs. Things  usually  fall  out  thus;  the  world  is  pre- 
occupied, is  agitated,  uneasy,  and  cries  aloud,  while 
for  the  most  part  the  persons  against  whom  all  the 
disturbance  is  directed  stay  peacefully  and  happily 
in  their  own  corner,  without  even  suspecting  the 
honour  done  them  by  their  world. 

When,  however,  after  the  death  of  the  son  who 
had  been  his  universe,  Stamply  cast  despairing  looks 
around  him  here  and  there,  and  failed  to  find  one 
friendly  hand,  one  loving  heart,  one  kindly  counte- 
nance, the  poor  man  at  last  came  to  perceive  that  a 
sort  of  sanitary  cordon  had  been  drawn  round  him. 
His  peasants  and  his  farmers  hated  him,  because  he 
had  left  their  ranks;  the  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood 

23 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

turned  away  when  he  came  within  their  range  of 
vision  without  returning  his  greeting,  while  latterly 
the  very  urchins  had  insulted  him  and  flung  stones 
at  him  when  he  passed  through  the  village.  "  See," 
they  said  to  each  other,  "  here  comes  that  old  rogue 
Stamply,  who  made  his  fortune  by  plundering  his 
masters!  "  And  Stamply  would  pass  on,  his  head 
bent,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  His  spirit,  bent  al- 
ready by  the  double  burden  of  age  and  sorrow,  gave 
way  finally  under  the  expressions  of  public  con- 
tempt; his  conscience,  which  had  been  easy,  began 
to  trouble  him  anew.  In  short,  within  his  chateau, 
in  the  midst  of  his  vast  demesne,  he  lived  solitary, 
proscribed,  and  miserable. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  WHILE  ago  I  pointed  out  to  you  the  Castel  de 
Vaubert,  half  hidden  by  a  clump  of  oaks,  and  con- 
templating with  an  air  of  melancholy  the  proud 
fagade  of  the  chateau  that  dominates  the  two  banks 
of  the  Clain.  The  Castel  de  Vaubert  did  not  always 
present  the  humble  aspect  it  assumes  to-day.  Before 
the  Revolution  swept  over  this  district  it  was  a  vast 
chateau,  with  towers  and  bastions,  drawbridges  and 
moats,  battlements  and  platforms — a  fortified  castle 
whose  imposing  mass  overwhelmed  the  elegant  and 
floriated  architecture  of  its  refined  and  gracious 
neighbour.  The  domain  that  lay  round  it,  and  had 
from  time  immemorial  constituted  the  barony  of 
Vaubert,  gave  place,  neither  in  extent  nor  in  value, 
to  the  property  of  the  La  Seiglieres.  To  speak  of 
the  La  Seiglieres  and  the  De  Vauberts  was  to  name 
the  masters  of  the  country.  •  Apart  from  some  little 
rivalry,  inevitable  between  neighbours  of  such  high 
pretensions,  the  two  houses  had  always  lived  on 
terms  of  almost  perfect  intimacy,  which  had  of  late 
been  knit  all  the  more  closely  by  the  apprehension  of 
a  common  danger.  Both  families  emigrated  on  the 

25 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

same  day,  pursued  the  same  route,  and  selected  the 
same  corner  of  alien  land  on  which  to  live,  even  more 
closely  allied  in  misfortune  than  they  had  been  in 
prosperity.  They  gathered  up  all  that  could  be  real- 
ized of  their  wealth  and  settled  themselves  under  one 
roof,  with  community  of  goods,  of  hopes,  and  of  re- 
grets—of more  regrets  than  hopes,  of  greater  hopes 
than  wealth.  M.  de  Vaubert,  like  the  marquis,  had 
a  wife,  and  also  a  son,  who  was  still  a  child,  and  fated 
to  grow  up  in  exile. 

These  patricians,  who  were  overwhelmed  with 
calumny,  now  that  it  was  so  easy  to  slander  them,  at 
all  events  showed  in  their  times  of  trial  that  they 
were  capable  of  supporting  bad  fortune  as  though 
they  had  never  known  better  days.  These  poor  souls 
who  were  accustomed  to  luxury  and  idleness,  these 
light-minded  aristocrats,  who  were  mostly  frivolous 
and  dissipated,  exhibited  in  the  days  of  their  tribula- 
tion an  unexpected  fund  of  energy,  of  courage,  and 
of  cheerful  resignation.  And  so  the  little  colony  we 
are  concerned  with  settled  gaily  down  to  poverty, 
and  attacked  their  new  life  with  amiable  philosophy. 
The  house  they  occupied,  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
consisted  of  a  central  block  of  buildings,  flanked  by 
two  pavilions:  one  they  called  the  Chateau  de  Vau- 
bert, the  other  the  Chateau  de  la  Seigliere.  By  day 
they  exchanged  visits,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of 
etiquette;  in  the  evening  the  families  met  in  the  com- 

26 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

mon  salon.  Exquisite  courtesy  and  fine  manners  dis- 
tinguished each  member  of  the  little  coterie.  Mme. 
de  la  Seigliere  and  Mme.  de  Vaubert  contributed  the 
charm  of  their  graces  and  their  beauty.  The  former 
was  already  a  prey  to  the  melancholy  indifference 
that  characterizes  those  who  are  to  die  before  their 
time;  the  latter,  of  a  less  poetic  nature,  an  active, 
stirring,  adventurous  creature,  was  fitted  to  grace  a 
wider  theatre,  amid  the  intrigues  that  were  weaving 
then  in  the  salons  of  Vienna  and  of  Coblentz.  They 
consoled  themselves  with  a  witty  jest;  they  revenged 
themselves  with  a  sarcasm;  they  were  never  angry. 
All  this  philosophy  rested,  one  is  bound  to  confess, 
upon  a  great  fund  of  illusions  and  a  complete  mis- 
apprehension of  facts.  Speaking  generally,  this  was 
the  secret  of  the  courage,  energy,  and  facile  resig- 
nation which  we  recognised  above  with  admiration. 
They  persisted  in  thinking  that  the  great  work  now 
in  progress  was  nothing  more  than  an  outrageous 
parade,  conducted  by  a  band  of  assassins.  From 
month  to  month  they  anticipated  the  speedy  chas- 
tisement, and  return  to  reason,  of  France.  The  ruin 
of  their  hopes  produced  a  singular  modification  in 
these  good  people,  and  led  them  forcibly  to  a  more 
just  and  more  sensible  appreciation  of  the  events 
that  had  been  accomplished. 

As  soon  as  these  children  who  had  lightly  played 
at  exile  began  to  understand  that  the  game  was  in 

27 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigltere 

earnest,  and  that  they  were  being  taken  at  their 
word,  several  of  their  number  thought  seriously  of 
returning  to  France:  some  to  join  in  the  conspiracies 
of  the  royalist  party,  who  were  then  beginning  to 
agitate  in  the  sections  of  Paris,  others  to  endeavour, 
if  there  should  yet  be  time,  to  recover  some  remnants 
of  their  property.  The  Baron  de  Vaubert  was  among 
these  latter.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  had  never  been 
very  enthusiastic  on  the  subject  of  emigration.  His 
wife  had  dragged  him  into  it,  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
he  clung  to  the  conviction  that  he  might,  with  a 
little  skill,  have  kept  both  his  head  and  his  estates. 
The  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,  whether  from  firmness 
or  from  obstinacy,  having  declared  that  he  would 
only  re-enter  France  with  his  legitimate  masters,  M. 
de  Vaubert  departed  alone,  meaning  either  to  re- 
turn to  his  wife  and  son,  or  send  for  them  to  join 
him,  according  to  the  result  of  his  proceedings  and 
the  course  of  events. 

M.  de  Vaubert  found  his  chateau  mutilated,  his 
battlements  demolished,  his  moats  filled  up,  his  es- 
cutcheons broken,  his  lands  parcelled  out,  his  prop- 
erty sold.  He  was  practical  enough,  once  delivered 
from  the  chivalrous  hallucinations,  to  which  he  could 
not  pardon  himself  for  having  been,  even  momen- 
tarily, their  dupe.  Returning  under  a  false  name, 
he  eventually  got  himself  struck  off  the  list  of  hnigres, 
and  reclaimed  his  proper  rank  as  soon  as  the  upper 

28 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

classes  of  society  began  to  reconstitute  themselves. 
He  had  now  only  to  regain  his  barony;  and  to  this 
end  he  devoted  every  faculty. 

Nothing  can  equal  adversity  in  developing  those 
industrial  instincts  in  a  man  which,  taken  all  to- 
gether, make  up  that  evil  genius  known  as  the  busi- 
ness mind.  It  is  fair  to  say  that  the  moment  was 
well  chosen.  In  an  epoch  alike  of  ruin  and  of  rise,  if 
the  old  fortunes  crumbled  like  a  house  of  cards,  the 
new  fortunes  cropped  up  like  mushrooms  after  a 
rainy  day.  There  was  room  for  every  conceivable 
ambition;  the  soil  was  cumbered  with  parvenus;  pri- 
vate individuals  enriched  themselves  from  day  to 
day  by  gambling  in  hazardous  speculations,  and  in 
the  midst  of  private  prosperity  the  state  alone  could, 
properly  speaking,  be  termed  destitute.  M.  de  Vau- 
bert  flung  himself  into  business  with  the  adven- 
turous audacity  of  people  who  have  nothing  more 
to  lose.  Not  allowing  himself  to  be  discouraged  by 
the  difficulty  of  the  enterprise,  he  gallantly  proposed 
to  reconquer  and  rebuild  the  inheritance  he  had  re- 
ceived from  his  fathers,  and  had  at  heart  to  trans- 
mit to  his  son.  Years,  however,  passed  before  his 
efforts  were  crowned  with  success,  and  it  was  not 
till  1810  that  he  was  able  to  buy  up  what  remained 
of  his  manor,  with  a  portion  of  the  surrounding 
estate.  He  had  got  thus  far  in  his  task,  and  hoped 
to  bring  it  to  a  successful  issue,  when  death  surprised 

29 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

him  just  as  he  had  written  to  summon  his  wife  and 
son,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  nearly  fifteen  years. 
What,  meantime,  had  befallen  the  exiles?  The 
marquis  had  grown  old;  Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  no 
longer  young;  her  son  Raoul  was  eighteen;  Mme.  de 
la  Seigliere  had  died  ten  years  before,  in  giving  birth 
to  a  daughter,  who  was  named  Helene,  and  promised 
to  be  as  beautiful  as  her  mother.  On  receiving  M. 
de  Vaubert's  letter  the  baronne  decided  to  set  out 
immediately.  The  parting  was  a  sorrowful  one. 
Notwithstanding  the  difference  of  age,  the  two  chil- 
dren loved  each  other  tenderly.  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
and  the  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere  had  become  intimate 
from  habit  and  from  their  common  misfortune. 
Some  evil  tongues  asserted  that  they  had  found  mu- 
tual consolation  during  their  widowhood;  with  these 
foolish  sallies  we  have  no  concern.  The  fact  is  that, 
at  the  moment  of  parting,  they  felt  agitated  and 
troubled.  They  were  old  friends.  The  baronne 
urged  the  marquis  and  his  daughter  to  accompany 
her,  inviting  them  to  continue  at  Vaubert  the  life 
they  had  led  in  a  foreign  land,  and  hinting  at  her 
desire  that  Helene  and  Raoul  should  one  day  be 
united.  The  marquis  did  not  deny  that  such  a  mar- 
riage would  consummate  his  dearest  wishes;  he  had 
more  than  once  cherished  a  secret  dream  to  the  same 
effect.  He  took  note  of  the  proposal  of  the  baronne, 
and  the  two  children  were  henceforward  affianced  to 

30 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

each  other.  As  to  the  offer  of  returning  to  France, 
and  establishing  himself  at  Vaubert,  M.  de  la  Seig- 
liere, while  grieved  to  part  from  his  companions  in 
misfortune,  let  it  be  plainly  understood  that  the  pro- 
posal was  repugnant  to  him.  In  twenty  years  his 
ideas  had  not  advanced  a  step.  He  could  not  par- 
don M.  de  Vaubert  for  having  compromised  his 
name  over  the  army  contracts,  and  he  was  not  the 
man  to  share  the  advantages  of  a  fortune  purchased 
at  such  a  price.  Finally,  nothing  in  the  world  would 
have  induced  him  to  view  from  such  close  quarters 
the  ancient  throne  of  France  in  the  possession  of  a 
usurper  and  the  La  Seigliere  estates  in  the  hands  of 
one  of  his  own  farmers.  In  his  eyes  Bonaparte  and 
Stamply  were  only  two  bandits,  whom  he  ranked  in 
the  same  category;  the  one  he  called  the  Stamply  of 
the  Bourbons,  the  other  the  Napoleon  of  the  La 
Seiglieres.  His  conversation  was  curious  and  enter- 
taining upon  this  subject;  otherwise  he  was  an  ami- 
able gentleman  whom  no  one  could  help  loving.  In 
short,  he  was  fuil  of  confidence  in  a  future  that  was 
to  reinstate  the  monarchy  in  its  integrity,  and  its 
servants  in  their  estates,  rights,  and  privileges,  and 
insisted  that  he  would  never  set  foot  in  France -till 
the  Stamplys  of  all  kinds  had  been  driven  out,  some 
at  the  point  of  the  cane,  others  at  the  mouth  of  the 
cannon. 

The  return  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  a  perfect 
3-VoL  7  31 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

epic  of  poignant  deceptions  and  bitter  disenchant- 
ments.  From  the  letter  of  her  husband,  who  entered 
into  no  details,  and  until  now  had  always  exagger- 
ated the  success  of  his  enterprises,  the  baronne  had 
supposed  that  she  was  going  to  find  her  chateau, 
with  all  its  dependencies,  in  much  the  same  state  as 
when  she  left  it.  At  Poitiers  she  was  not  a  little 
surprised  at  not  finding  M.  de  Vaubert,  with  the 
family  carriage,  since  she  had  taken  care  to  announce 
the  day  of  her  arrival.  M.  de  Vaubert  had  good 
reason  for  not  keeping  the  rendezvous,  but  the  ba- 
ronne was  far  from  suspecting  it.  As  she  was  impa- 
tient to  reach  her  estates,  she  took  her  son's  arm, 
and  together,  having  reached  the  banks  of  the  Clain, 
they  followed  the  path  that  led  to  Vaubert. 

One  must  have  grown  old  in  exile  to  comprehend 
the  emotions  that  surged  in  this  woman's  breast  as 
she  drank  in  deep  breaths,  and  recognised  by  its 
scent  the  country  air  of  the  region  where  she  had 
passed  the  heyday  of  her  youth.  Her  bosom  swelled, 
and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  It  must  be  said  to  her 
credit  that  she  was  touched  not  merely  by  the  sense 
of  her  recovered  property.  She  had  experienced  the 
same  emotions  on  setting  foot  upon  the  soil  of 
France;  only  at  this  moment  a  more  subtle  intoxica- 
tion was  naturally  mingled  with  them.  For,  if  we 
justly  scorn  the  egoism  of  those  narrow  souls  who 
limit  the  fatherland  to  the  extent  of  their  own  do- 

32 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

mains,  it  is  also  just  to  recognise  that  the  paternal 
fields  and  the  hereditary  roof  are  as  a  second  father- 
land within  one's  country.  Raoul,  who  had  no  recol- 
lection of  the  neighbourhood,  did  not  participate  in 
the  emotions  of  his  mother;  but  his  young  heart 
leaped  with  joy  and  pride  at  the  thought  that  the 
chateau,  the  woods,  the  farms,  the  meadows,  so  often 
beheld  in  his  dreams  as  a  fairy  shore,  were  here  at 
hand,  and  that  at  last  he  was  in  touch  with  the 
baronial  opulence  of  which  he  had  heard  so  often, 
and  after  which  he  had  always  sighed.  As  they  pro- 
ceeded, Mme.  de  Vaubert  showed  him  the  ocean 
of  verdure  that  unrolled  itself  before  them,  and  ex- 
claimed with  rapture,  "  All  this,  my  son,  belongs  to 
you!"  She  rejoiced  in  the  transports  of  the  young 
man,  looking  forward  most  of  all  to  his  introduction 
to  the  Gothic  manor  of  his  ancestors,  a  very  fortress 
from  without,  a  veritable  palace  breathing  the  ac- 
cumulated luxury  of  ten  generations  within.  She 
was,  however,  surprised  at  meeting  neither  M.  de 
Vaubert  nor  any  deputation  of  farmers  and  young 
people  from  the  village,  who  would  naturally  hasten 
to  celebrate  her  return  and  to  offer  her  flowers  and 
homage.  Raoul  himself,  who,  though  brought  up  in 
the  lap  of  privation,  had  none  the  less  been  edu- 
cated in  the  ideas  of  his  race,  with  which  he  had 
early  been  inoculated  from  the  conversations  of 
his  mother  with  the  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,  won- 

33 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

dered  a  little  sadly  at  the  want  of  enthusiasm  dis- 
played during  their  progress.  But,  merciful  heav- 
ens, what  was  the  stupor  of  the  baronne,  when,  on 
turning  the  corner  of  the  path,  the  vestiges  of  her 
pleasance  and  chateau  were  revealed  to  her,  while 
Raoul,  seeing  his  mother  transfixed  in  dumb  dis- 
may, asked  what  the  ruin  was  that  she  was  staring 
at!  At  first  she  refused  to  believe  her  eyes;  the 
sun  had  just  set,  and  she  seriously  believed  this  to 
be  the  effect  of  the  twilight,  and  herself  the  victim 
of  some  novel  mirage.  Nevertheless,  she  accom- 
plished the  rest  of  her  journey  with  a  step  that  was 
less  firm  and  a  heart  less  joyous.  Alas,  it  was  but 
too  true!  The  pleasance  had  disappeared,  and  only 
a  clump  of  oaks  was  left  of  it.  The  chateau  was 
nothing  but  a  mutilated  body,  the  scars  of  which 
were  hidden  in  a  shroud  of  ivy.  The  moats  had  been 
converted  into  kitchen-gardens,  the  chapel  existed 
no  longer,  the  turrets  had  crumbled  away,  the  fagade 
was  in  ruins.  Not  one  servant  was  on  the  threshold! 
not  a  single  gun  was  fired!  no  flowers!  no  speeches! 
no  sound  other  than  the  cries  of  the  swallows  circling 
in  the  blue  evening  sky!  Everywhere,  on  all  sides, 
solitude  and  the  silence  of  the  tomb.  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert  still  advanced,  while  her  son  repeated,  as  he  fol- 
lowed her  in  astonishment:  "But  where  are  we  go- 
ing? Where  are  you  taking  me,  mother?  " 

The  baronne  went  on  silently.     As  she  entered 
34 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

this  denuded  nest  her  limbs  gave  way,  and  she  felt 
that  her  heart  was  breaking.  The  interior  was  even 
more  gloomy  and  desolate  than  had  been  suggested 
from  without.  The  parquet  floors  had  rotted,  the 
panelling,  together  with  the  hangings  of  damask  and 
Dutch  leather,  had  been  stripped  off;  the  pictures, 
the  Gothic  furniture,  the  Renaissance  appointments, 
all  were  gone.  Empty  halls,  deserted  apartments, 
bare  and  decaying  walls,  were  all  that  met  the  eye; 
only  here  and  there,  on  the  ceilings,  was  there  any 
trace  of  gilding;  at  the  windows  any  shred  of  silk 
that  had  been  forgotten,  discoloured  by  the  damp, 
and  gnawed  by  rats. 

"  What  is  this  place  we  are  in,  mother?  "  asked 
Raoul,  casting  astonished  glances  round  him.  Mme. 
de  Vaubert  went  from  room  to  room,  and  did  not 
answer.  At  length,  after  vainly  seeking  for  a  living 
soul  amid  the  debris,  she  found  an  old,  old  servant 
sleeping  soundly  in  the  chimney-corner.  She  shook 
him  violently  by  the  arm,  crying  repeatedly  in  a  loud, 
imperious  voice,  "  Where  is  M.  de  Vaubert?  " 

"  M.  de  Vaubert,  madame,"  the  old  man  an- 
swered, rubbing  his  eyes,  "  M.  de  Vaubert  is  in  the 
cemetery." 

"  You  are  a  fool,  man!  "  cried  the  baronne,  who 
by  this  time  was  out  of  her  senses.  "  What  should 
M.  de  Vaubert  be  doing  in  the  cemetery?  " 

"  Madame,"  replied  the  old  servant,  "  he  is  doing 
35 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

what  I  was  doing  just  now;  he  is  sleeping  there  pro- 
foundly." 

"Dead!"  shrieked  the  baronne. 

"  And  buried  a  month  ago,"  pursued  the  old 
man  quietly. 

At  her  scream  the  old  fellow  looked  at  the  lady 
attentively,  and  recognised  Mme.  de  Vaubert.  He 
had  formerly  been  one  of  the  servants  in  the  house; 
he  was  now  the  only  survivor.  From  age  and  infirm- 
ity he  had  become  almost  imbecile.  He  related  how 
the  baron,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  buying  back  his  chateau  and  two  small 
farms,  which  composed  the  whole  of  his  landed  prop- 
erty, had  died  suddenly,  before  he  had  had  time  to 
carry  out  the  repairs  and  embellishments  that  would 
have  made  the  manor  fit  for  the  reception  of  Mme. 
la  Baronne  and  her  son. 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  prostrated;  Raoul  could 
not  recover  from  the  shock  of  what  he  had  seen  and 
heard.  Exhausted  by  the  fatigues  of  the  journey  and 
the  emotions  of  the  return,  the  young  baron  fell 
asleep  on  a  straw  chair,  and  his  mother  passed  the 
night  upon  the  only  clean  bed  that  the  house  af- 
forded. 

On  leaving  her  room  next  morning,  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  met  Raoul,  who  was  roaming  with  an  air  of 
melancholy  through  the  chateau  of  his  ancestors. 
They  looked  at  one  another  without  uttering  a  syl- 

36 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

lable.  The  baronne  still  cherished  some  illusions  as 
to  the  situation;  but  when  the  seals  had  been  broken, 
and  the  succession  liquidated,  whether  it  was  that 
M.  de  Vaubert  had  dissipated  on  the  one  hand  what 
he  had  gained  on  the  other,  or  whether  he  had  de- 
ceived himself  as  to  the  results  of  his  operations,  his 
wife  and  son  were  forced  to  recognise  that  their  in- 
heritance was  in  reality  limited  to  the  chateau  as  it 
is  to-day,  with  two  small  farms  of  little  value,  and 
a  sum  of  fifty  thousand  francs,  which  the  baron  had 
deposited  with  his  notary  a  few  days  before  his  death. 
That  was  clearly  and  unmistakably  the  whole  of  their 
fortune.  They  organized  their  life  without  preten- 
sion, and  the  existence  they  led  in  the  castle  differed 
little  from  that  of  their  days  of  exile. 

Still  other  and  no  less  cruel  disillusions  were  in 
store  for  Mme.  de  Vaubert.  By  slow  degrees,  as  she 
lived  upon  this  soil  that  the  revolutionary  ploughshare 
had  turned  upside  down  and  thoroughly  disinte- 
grated; as  she  watched  what  was  happening  in  this 
France,  great  and  prosperous  once  more,  and  crowned 
with  glory;  as  she  studied  the  territorial  constitution 
of  the  country,  and  observed  the  new  dispositions  of 
property,  already  consecrated  by  long  years  of  enjoy- 
ment, settled,  invulnerable,  reposing  upon  the  com- 
mon rights — she  realized  how  void  and  null  were  the 
dreams  of  the  party  of  the  emigration.  She  felt  that 
even  under  the  most  propitious  circumstances  the 

37 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

restoration  of  the  Bourbons  to  their  kingdom  would 
not  of  necessity  reinstate  the  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere 
in  his  estates.  She  judged  that  Napoleon,  at  the 
zenith  of  his  power,  was  less  firmly  seated  on  his 
throne  than  was  the  fortune  of  Maitre  Stamply  upon 
his  uplands,  and  that  while  the  one  could  be  driven 
out  at  the  cannon's  mouth,  the  other  could  not  for 
that  be  ousted  by  the  cane. 

Amid  these  reflections  Mme.  de  Vaubert's  enthu- 
siasm for  the  marriage  of  her  son  with  Mile,  de  la 
Seigliere  cooled  perceptibly.  At  the  moment  of 
quitting  the  marquis  and  his  daughter,  she  had  been 
overcome  by  the  emotions  incident  on  the  parting; 
at  a  distance,  reason  resumed  its  colder  sway.  Raoul 
was  handsome,  elegant,  well-set-up,  poor,  but  of  the 
highest  aristocracy,  for  the  De  Vauberts  were  de- 
scended from  the  first  Christian  baron.  In  this  pe- 
riod of  fusion  and  of  rallying,  when,  to  please  the 
head  of  the  state,  the  parvenus  were  endeavouring  to 
ennoble  their  money-bags  and  to  polish  their  coin 
by  rubbing  it  against  old  titles,  Raoul  might  evi- 
dently make  a  rich  marriage  that  would  enable  him 
to  raise  the  fortunes  of  his  family. 

These  ideas  developed  insensibly,  and  daily  as- 
sumed a  clearer  and  more  definite  outline  in  the  mind 
of  the  baronne.  She  was  tenderly  attached  to  her 
son;  her  love  suffered  equally  with  her  pride  in  see- 
ing the  future  of  this  fine  youth  destined  to  atrophy 

38 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  decay  in  the  ennui  of  poverty.  Still  young  her- 
self, yet  having  reached  that  age  at  which,  in  the  de- 
sire for  comfort  and  security,  the  calculations  of  ego- 
ism have  already  replaced  the  generous  impulses  of 
the  heart,  it  is  easy  to  divine  the  personal  ambitions 
that  were  germinating  under  the  indubitably  sincere 
solicitude  of  the  mother  for  her  son. 

Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  at  first  held  herself  apart, 
mixing  only  with  that  fraction  of  the  noblesse  who 
obstinately  brooded  in  their  corner,  was  thus  think- 
ing seriously  of  throwing  in  her  lot  with  the  fortunes 
of  the  empire,  and  of  seeking  some  lucrative  mesalli- 
ance for  her  son,  when  the  news  was  suddenly  bruited 
that  the  Imperial  Eagle,  struck  with  a  mortal  blow 
upon  the  fields  of  Russia,  was  only  holding  back  the 
dogs  of  war  in  a  strained  and  broken  talon.  The 
baronne  judged  it  prudent  to  wait,  and  see,  before 
taking  any  part,  from  which  side  the  storm  that  mut- 
tered at  every  point  of  the  horizon  was  first  likely 
to  break  out. 

It  was  at  this  moment,  you  will  remember,  that 
Stamply  received  the  news  of  the  death  of  his  son. 
The  report  reached  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  chari- 
tably decided  that  it  was  the  justice  of  Heaven,  and 
thought  no  more  about  it.  She  hated  Stamply  on 
her  own  account  and  on  that  of  the  marquis.  She 
only  spoke  of  him  with  contempt.  The  exaggerated 
accounts  she  had  given  of  the  position  of  M.  de  la 

39 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Seigliere  and  his  daughter  had  contributed  not  a 
little  to  bring  down  the  curses  of  the  country  upon 
the  head  of  her  unfortunate  victim.  Things  were 
at  this  pass,  when  one  evening  the  whole  affair  as- 
sumed a  different  complexion. 

Seated  at  the  open  window,  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
was  plunged  in  deep  meditation.  Neither  the  har- 
mony nor  the  sights  of  a  fine  summer's  evening  held 
her  thus  absorbed  and  dreaming.  She  was  gazing 
with  sad  envy  at  the  Chateau  de  la  Seigliere,  where 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun  were  playing  on  the  windows, 
the  mansion  shining  out  in  all  its  glory,  with  its  fes- 
toons and  arabesques,  its  belfrys  and  steeples,  while 
the  bosky  shades  of  the  park  waved  at  its  feet  in  the 
caressing  eddies  of  the  breezes.  The  same  prospect 
showed  the  rich  farms  grouped  around  the  chateau. 
In  the  bitterness  of  her  soul  she  was  reflecting  that 
this  mansion,  park,  and  lands  were  the  property  of 
a  rustic  and  a  clodhopper. 

Raoul  surprised  her  in  the  midst  of  these  reflec- 
tions. He  sat  down  near  his  mother,  and,  like  her, 
gazed  silently,  with  an  air  of  depression,  at  the  wide 
landscape  framed  in  the  open  window.  The  young 
man  had  long  been  the  prey  to  a  sombre  melancholy. 
With  no  taste  for  study,  which  alone  could  have  be- 
guiled his  poverty,  he  consumed  his  energies  in  ster- 
ile regrets  and  impotent  desires.  On  this  very  even- 
ing, while  tramping  over  his  fields  alone,  he  had 

40 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

encountered  a  joyous  band  of  horsemen  returning  to 
the  town.  The  young  men  were  fully  equipped  for 
hunting,  with  trumpeters,  hounds,  and  huntsmen. 
Raoul  had  neither  hounds,  nor  whips,  nor  a  thor- 
oughbred Limousin,  on  which  to  air  his  chagrin. 
He  came  home  feeling  more  discouraged  and  more 
bored  than  usual.  He  leaned  over  the  back  of  his 
chair,  his  forehead  in  his  hands,  and  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert_saw  two  great  tears  course  down  his  emaciated 
cheeks. 

"  My  son,  my  child,  my  Raoul! "  she  exclaimed, 
drawing  him  to  her  breast. 

"  O  mother,"  cried  the  young  man  bitterly,  "  why 
did  you  deceive  me?  Why  did  you  cradle  me  in 
fond  and  foolish  hopes?  Why  did  you  nurse  me 
from  my  infancy  in  senseless  dreams?  Why  show 
me  from  the  lap  of  poverty  enchanted  shores  on 
which  I  might  never  tread?  Why  did  you  not  bring 
me  up  to  be  content  with  mediocrity?  Why  did  you 
not  study  how  to  limit  my  desires  and  ambitions? 
Why  did  you  not  teach  me  in  early  years  the  hu- 
mility and  resignation  that  befit  our  fate?  It  would 
have  been  so  easy  for  you! " 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  only  bent  her  head  in  reply 
to  these  well-deserved  reproaches,  till  her  attention 
was  attracted  by  cries  from  outside.  She  got  up  and 
went  on  to  the  balcony,  whence,  at  the  end  of  the 
bridge  thrown  over  the  Clain,  she  recognised  Stamp- 

4.1 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ly,  pursued  by  a  troop  of  urchins  who  were  flinging 
sods  at  him.  The  old  outlaw  was  escaping,  as  fast 
as  his  age  and  iron-bound  shoes  would  let  him,  with- 
out attempting  to  retaliate.  Mme.  de  Vaubert  gazed 
after  him  for  a  long  time,  and  then  lost  herself  again 
in  reverie.  She  emerged  from  it  smiling  and  radiant. 
What  had  passed?  What  had  happened  to  her? 
Less  than  nothing — an  idea.  But  an  idea  may  suf- 
fice to  change  the  face  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  III 

SOME  days  later  Mme.  de  Vaubert  took  the  arm 
of  her  son,  and  went  as  far  as  the  right  bank  of  the 
Clain,  on  pretext  of  a  ramble.  It  was  the  first  time 
since  her  return  that  she  had  ventured  to  approach 
this  bank.  As  they  passed  the  gate  of  the  park  she 
stood  still  for  a  moment,  then,  as  if  yielding  to  the 
attractions  of  old  memories,  she  opened  the  gate  and 
went  in. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  mother? "  cried  Raoul, 
after  trying  in  vain  to  hold  her  back  at  the  threshold. 
"  Do  you  not  fear  to  outrage  the  marquis  and  his 
daughter  by  setting  foot  upon  this  property?  Are 
you  not  violating  both  the  creed  of  friendship  and 
the  religion  of  misfortune?  While  with  the  feelings 
of  hatred  and  contempt  that  we  all  profess  against 
the  owner  of  this  place,  is  it  seemly  that  we  should  be 
here?  " 

"  Come,  come,  my  son.  We  are  not  outraging 
the  marquis  by  seeking  the  memories  of  him  that 
survive  beneath  these  trees.  In  what  you  take  for  an 
insult  to  misfortune  M.  de  la  Seigliere  himself  would 
only  see  a  pious  pilgrimage.  Come,"  she  repeated, 

43 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

with  a  gentle  pressure  of  Raoul's  arm;  "  we  need  not 
be  afraid  of  any  irritating  encounter.  At  this  hour 
I  see  M.  Stamply  go  by  every  day  to  visit  his  estate. 
Besides,  I  must  confess  to  you,  my  son,  that  I  have 
somewhat  got  over  my  prejudices,  and  that  this  man 
really  does  not  seem  to  me  to  deserve  either  the 
hatred  or  the  contempt  which  the  country  has 
heaped  upon  him.  Indeed,  I  think  that  there  if 
something  touching  about  this  destiny,  unhappy  anc 
proscribed  in  the  midst  of  prosperity,  which  inter- 
ests me  in  spite  of  myself." 

"  How,  mother?  "  cried  the  young  man.  "  A 
farmer  who  has  dispossessed  his  seigneurs!  a  servant 
who  has  enriched  himself  with  the  spoil  of  his  mas- 
ters! a  wretch " 

"  Wretched  indeed ;  you  use  the  right  word, 
Raoul,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  interrupting  him. 
"  So  wretched  that  I  repent  me  now  of  having  joined 
my  voice  to  those  of  his  accusers.  Heaven  has 
treated  this  unfortunate  man  with  severity  enough 
to  admit  of  our  showing  him  a  little  indulgence.  But 
let  him  be,  my  son;  we  are  not  concerned  with  him. 
See,"  she  added,  drawing  him  into  an  alley  that  fol- 
lowed the  course  of  the  stream,  "  at  every  step  I  find 
some  image  of  my  best  years.  The  spirit  of  Mme.  de 
la  Seigliere  seems  to  breathe  from  every  flower." 

Talking  thus,  they  walked  slowly  on,  when  a  turn 
of  the  path  brought  them  almost  face  to  face  with 

44 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Stamply,  who  was  taking  a  solitary  walk  in  his  park. 
Raoul  attempted  to  retreat,  but  the  baronne  pre- 
vented him,  and  advanced  to  meet  the  worthy  man, 
who,  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  honour  of  such  a 
meeting,  saluted  them  profoundly. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  lady  graciously,  "  forgive  the  lib- 
erty that  I  have  taken  of  trespassing  thus  upon  your 
property.  This  delicious  shade  recalls  such  happy 
memories  that  I  could  no  longer  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  revisit  it." 

"  I  would  sooner  thank  you  than  forgive  you, 
madame,"  replied  old  Stamply,  who  had  immediately 
recognised  Mme.  de  Vaubert.  "  It  is  the  greatest 
honour,  the  only  honour,"  he  added  sadly,  "  that  has 
been  shown  this  place  since  I  have  lived  here." 

Then,  as  if  he  understood  that  the  honour  was 
not  designed  for  him,  whether  from  discretion  or 
from  humility,  the  old  man  made  as  if  he  would 
retire,  after  inviting  his  guests  to  pursue  their  walk, 
but  Mme.  de  Vaubert  called  to  him  kindly: 

"  Why  leave  us  in  such  haste,  sir?  You  must  wish 
to  make  us  feel  that  our  visit  is  indiscreet,  and  that 
we  are  disturbing  your  solitude.  Pray  stay  if  this 
be  not  the  case;  with  us  you  will  not  make  one  too 
many." 

Confused  by  so  much  attention,  Stamply  did  not 
know  how  to  express  his  gratitude,  and  only  suc- 
ceeded in  exhibiting  stupefaction.  For  the  first  time 

45 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

he  not  only  found  himself  receiving  guests  of  this  im- 
portance, but  actually  heard  himself  addressed  in  po- 
lite and  friendly  language.  And  it  was  Mme.  de 
Vaubert,  the  Baronne  de  Vaubert,  the  greatest  lady 
in  the  country,  the  friend  of  the  La  Seiglieres,  who 
deigned  to  treat  him  thus — him,  Stamply,  the  old 
rogue,  as  he  knew  too  well  that  they  called  him  in 
the  country!  His  feelings  may  be  imagined  when 
he  felt  the  hand  of  Mme.  la  Baronne  upon  his  arm, 
while  she  said  to  him  with  a  gentle  smile  and  a  tone 
almost  of  familiarity: 

"  Come,  M.  Stamply,  be  my  guide  and  escort." 
The  poor  reprobates  who  are  boycotted  by  cal- 
umny alone  know  the  entire  value  of  an  unexpected 
sign  of  sympathy  and  kindness.  However  slight  it 
be,  they  seize  upon  it  with  a  sense  of  unspeakable 
gratitude;  it  is  the  blade  of  grass  thrown  by  the  dove 
to  the  drowning  ant.  When  Stamply  felt  the  arm  of 
the  Baronne  de  Vaubert  within  his  own  he  was  de- 
voured with  a  joy  akin  to  that  felt  by  the  leper  of 
Aosta  when  his  hand  was  grasped  by  a  friendly  hand. 
The  occasion  would  have  been  perfect  if  the  good 
man  had  been  less  embarrassed  by  his  costume  and 
his  deportment.  His  person,  indeed,  contrasted 
strangely  with  that  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who,  in  her 
penury,  humiliated  the  opulence  of  her  neighbour  by 
the  elegance  of  her  dress  and  the  grace  of  her  man- 
ners. 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  If  I  could  have  imagined  that  so  great  an  hon- 
our was  preparing  for  me  I  should  have  paid  some 
little  attention  to  my  toilet  this  morning,"  he  re- 
marked, gazing  sadly  at  his  rough  shoes,  with  red 
copper  buckles,  his  blue  woollen  stockings,  his  fus- 
tian waistcoat,  and  his  threadbare  velveteen  breeches. 

"  But  why?  "  cried  the  baronne.  "  You  are  quite 
well  dressed.  Besides,  sir,  you  are  at  home  here." 

These  words,  "  You  are  at  home,"  went  to  Stam- 
ply's  heart,  and  filled  him  with  a  gentle  sense  of  sat- 
isfaction. "  You  are  at  home  " — simple  words  that 
for  a  long  time  past  he  had  hardly  dared  to  say  to 
himself,  so  cruelly  wounded  was  he  in  his  self-es- 
teem by  his  consciousness  of  the  public  contempt. 
Were  not  these  words,  as  pronounced  by  Mme.  de 
Vaubert,  a  formal  disclaimer  of  the  detrimental  com- 
ments of  the  slanderers?  Were  they  not  for  this 
man  a  startling  rehabilitation,  a  solemn  consecra- 
tion of  his  rights  and  his  fortune?  In  the  meantime 
young  De  Vaubert,  whose  surprise  was  at  least  equal 
to  that  of  Stamply,  remained  beside  his  mother,  cold, 
silent,  and  haughty,  not  knowing  what  to  conclude 
or  to  imagine  from  the  strange  scene  that  was  tak- 
ing place  under  his  eyes. 

As  they  talked  and  walked,  they  arrived  by  in- 
sensible detours  before  the  fagade  of  the  mansion.  The 
day  was  burning,  the  sky  overcast  with  clouds.  For 
nearly  an  hour  Mme.  de  Vaubert  had  been  walking 

47 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

under  the  sultry  shades,  unrefreshed  by  any  breeze. 
She  sat  down  on  the  steps  in  front  of  the  house,  and 
passed  her  handkerchief  over  her  face  and  forehead, 
while  Stamply  stood  in  front  of  her  without  moving, 
save  that  his  fingers  twisted  at  the  large  brim  of  the 
felt  hat  which  he  had  persistently  held  in  his  hand 
throughout  the  walk. 

At  length  he  said,  with  an  air  of  entreaty:  "  Ma- 
dame would  crown  her  favours  if  she  deigned  to  rest 
a  moment  inside  my  house.  I  should  be  the  more 
touched  by  such  a  great  favour,  since  I  recognise 
how  little  I  am  worthy  of  it." 

"  Mother,"  interrupted  Raoul,  who  wanted  to 
be  quit  of  this  comedy,  of  which  he  saw  neither  the 
conclusion  nor  the  significance,  "  a  great  storm  is 
coming  up;  we  shall  scarcely  have  time  to  get  home 
now  before  it  breaks." 

"  Well,  my  son,  we  will  let  the  storm  go  by,"  re- 
plied Mme.  de  Vaubert,  rising.  "  Since  our  kind 
neighbour  offers  us  such  cordial  hospitality,  let  us 
go  and  wait  under  his  roof  until  the  elements  permit 
us  to  regain  our  own." 

On  hearing  these  words  Stamply's  face  fairly 
shone,  and  his  mouth  expanded  in  a  smile  of  beati- 
tude. What  a  triumph,  indeed,  for  him  to  receive 
Mme.  de  Vaubert,  and  thus  prove  to  his  household, 
who  would  inevitably  inform  the  country-side,  that 
he  was  thought  better  of  than  mischief-makers 

48 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

elected  to  say  and  fools  to  believe!  Leicester  re- 
ceiving Queen  Elizabeth  in  the  castle  of  Kenilworth 
was  not  happier  or  more  proud  than  Maitre  Stam- 
ply  at  this  moment,  when  he  saw  the  baronne  mount 
the  flight  of  steps,  and  cross  the  threshold  of  his 
door. 

Raoul  followed  his  mother  with  a  gesture  of  dis- 
pleasure that  she  affected  not  to  see,  and  that  passed 
unnoticed  by  Stamply,  absorbed  as  he  was  in  his  joy 
and  happiness.  When,  after  introducing  his  guests 
into  the  salon,  the  good  man  escaped  to  give  per- 
sonal supervision  to  the  hospitality  incumbent  on 
him,  Raoul,  left  alone  with  his  mother,  was  at  last 
going  to  demand  the  explanation  of  an  enigma 
which  he  had  vainly  endeavoured  to  decipher  for  an 
hour  past,  when  he  was  checked  by  an  impulse  of 
curiosity  that  closed  his  lips  and  made  his  eyes  open 
widely. 

Though  nothing  in  the  arrangement  of  the  rooms 
was  changed,  the  interior  of  the  Chateau  de  la  Sei- 
gliere no  longer  corresponded  with  the  magnificence 
of  its  outside  aspect.  Everything  spoke  of  negli- 
gence, and  of  the  less  than  aristocratic  and  hardly 
even  bourgeois  habits  of  the  new  proprietor.  Besides 
this,  the  twenty  years  that  had  elapsed  had  not 
tended  to  rejuvenate  the  freshness  of  the  hangings. 
These  faded  fabrics  and  blackened  gildings,  the  lux- 
ury without  youth — vestiges  of  a  splendour  wherein 

49 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

life  was  no  longer  expressed — made  up  an  interior 
as  little  cheerful  as  can  be  imagined.  It  was  as  fine 
and  as  sad  as  those  vast  halls  in  the  palace  of  Ver- 
sailles that  one  admires  in  passing  through  them, 
but  where  one  would  die  oi  ennui  if  forced  to  in- 
habit them.  The  salon  into  which  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
and  her  son  had  been  introduced  alone  preserved,  by 
special  favour,  its  freshness  and  brilliance,  its  youth 
and  vitality.  You  would  have  said  that  Mme.  de  la 
Seigliere  still  animated  it  with  her  grace  and  beauty. 
Bernard,  during  his  life,  had  taken  pleasure  in  adorn- 
ing it,  and  had  embellished  it  with  all  the  treasures 
that  the  marquis  had  been  unable  to  carry  into  exile 
with  him,  and  Stamply,  after  the  departure,  and  even 
after  the  death  of  his  son,  had  desired  out  of  respect 
to  his  memory  that  this  apartment  should  be  kept  up 
with  the  same  care  as  in  the  past,  as  if  Bernard 
were  expected  to  return  at  any  moment.  According- 
ly, everything  here  breathed  the  splendour  of  former 
days.  Damask  from  Genoa,  tapestries  of  Beauvais 
work,  Boule  furniture  laden  with  artistic  objects, 
sparkling  crystals,  groups  in  porcelain,  Dresden  and 
Sevres  china,  gilded  fillets,  reaching  to  the  ceiling, 
pastorals  by  Watteau  above  the  doors — there  was 
enough  to  provide  twenty  pages  of  description  to 
some  of  those  pretty  wits  who  have  created  the 
poetry  of  the  inventory,  and  shown  themselves  less 
occupied  with  the  furnishing  of  the  soul  than  with 

50 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

that  of  the  mansion.  After  examining  it  all  with 
jealous  attention,  after  recognising  and  touching  for 
himself  all  that  he  had  till  now  seen  only  in  his  illu- 
sive fancies,  Raoul  approached  the  window,  and  be- 
took himself  to  gazing  gloomily  at  the  ruined  Castel 
de  Vaubert,  which  had  never  seemed  to  him  so  poor 
and  so  forsaken  as  in  this  hour.  Meantime  the 
baronne  contemplated  her  son  with  satisfaction,  se- 
rene and  smiling,  as  though  she  held  in  her  grasp 
the  magic  wand  by  which  the  towers  of  her  chateau 
were  to  be  rebuilt  and  the  fortune  of  his  ancestors 
given  back  to  Raoul. 

Stamply  was  not  long  in  returning,  followed  by 
two  gaping  lads  from  the  farm,  who  were  laden  with 
trays  of  sirups,  cream,  strawberries,  and  Spanish 
wines.  The  entire  staff  of  servants,  consisting  of  a 
cook,  a  gardener,  and  a  wench  who  minded  the  tur- 
keys, pressed  into  the  antechamber,  endeavouring 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Mme.  la  Baronne  and  her  son 
through  the  half-opened  door.  It  was  the  first  time 
since  the  arrival  of  Stamply  that  there  had  been  such 
a  fete  at  the  chateau. 

"  This  is  extremely  tempting,"  said  Mme.  de 
Vaubert,  with  her  sweetest  smile.  "  You  have  pre- 
pared a  royal  reception  for  us,  sir." 

Stamply  bowed,  got  very  confused,  and  stam- 
mered. Then,  observing  that  the  two  farm  hands, 
after  setting  down  the  trays  upon  a  marble  console, 

51 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

had  seated  themselves  in  arm-chairs,  and  were  pea- 
cocking there  quite  unconcernedly,  he  took  them  by 
the  shoulders,  and  pushed  them  both  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Why,  sir,"  cried  the  baronne,  who  could  not 
help  laughing  at  this  little  episode,  "  do  you  know 
that  you  deserve  to  be  appointed  keeper-general  of 
the  French  castles?  This  one  has  lost  nothing  of  its 
ancient  splendour;  indeed,  I  think  that  you  have 
added  new  magnificence  to  it.  And,  for  the  rest,  it 
is  said  that  the  La  Seigliere  estates  have  doubled 
their  value  under  your  administration.  According 
to  that,  you  must  be  the  richest  proprietor  in  the 
country." 

"Alas,  Mme.  la  Baronne!"  replied  the  old  man 
sadly,  "  God  and  man  have  made  me  pay  dear 
enough  for  this  property  that  people  envy  me!  God 
has  taken  away  my  wife  and  child;  man  has  heaped 
outrages  upon  me.  The  ancient  Job  was  less  un- 
happy upon  his  dunghill  than  I  in  the  midst  of 
riches.  You  have  a  son,  madame;  gauge  your  con- 
tent and  you  will  appreciate  my  misfortunes." 

"  I  do  appreciate  them,  sir.  They  tell  me  that 
your  son  was  a  hero." 

"Ah,  madame,  he  was  my  all!"  cried  the  old 
man,  choking  back  his  tears. 

"  The  counsels  of  God  are  impenetrable,"  said 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  sadly.  "  As  regards  the  judgment 

52 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

of  men,  I  think,  sir,  that  you  would  be  wrong  to  let 
yourself  be  distracted  by  it.  You  say  that  you  have 
been  charged  with  committing  outrages?  It  is  news 
to  me;  you  are  the  first  to  tell  it  me.  What  does  the 
opinion  of  fools  matter?  You  have  the  esteem  of 
honest  people." 

At  these  words  Stamply  shook  his  head  sorrow- 
fully, in  token  of  dissent. 

"  You  slander  yourself,  sir,"  continued  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  warmly.  "  Do  you  think,  for  instance,  that 
I  should  be  here  if  I  did  not  hold  you  in  esteem?  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  sufficiently  interested  in  the 
question  to  escape  the  charge  of  partiality  in  your 
favour.  As  the  friend  of  the  La  Seiglieres,  I  shared 
their  exile  for  fifteen  years.  Like  them,  I  have  seen 
my  goods  sequestered  and  sold  by  the  Republic.  The 
Republic  has  despoiled  us;  she  has  disposed  of  that 
which  did  not  belong  to  her — let  it  be  to  her  eternal 
shame!  But  for  you,  a  purchaser  in  all  good  faith, 
who  have  bought  with  your  own  money,  who  blames 
you?  By  whom  are  you  accused?  Adversity  may 
embitter  us;  it  has  not  stifled  the  instincts  of  justice 
in  our  breasts.  It  is  not  you  we  hate.  How  often 
have  I  not  heard  the  Marquis  and  Mme.  de  la  Sei- 
gliere congratulating  themselves  on  the  fact  that 
their  estates  had  at  any  rate  fallen  to  the  most 
honest  of  their  farmers." 

"  Can  this  be  true,  madame?  "  exclaimed  Stam- 
53 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ply,  with  a  gesture  of  surprise  and  joy.  "  Did  M.  le 
Marquis  and  Mme.  la  Marquise  really  speak  of  me 
without  anger?  I  should  have  expected  to  be  noth- 
ing but  an  object  of  contempt  and  execration  to 
them." 

"  But  why?  "  replied  the  baronne,  smiling.  "  I 
recollect  how,  some  few  days  before  her  death, 
the  poor  marquise  happened  to  be  saying  to 
me " 

"  Mme.  la  Marquise  is  dead!  "  cried  Stamply  in 
painful  surprise. 

"  She  died  in  giving  birth  to  a  daughter,  as  beau- 
tiful to-day  as  was  her  mother.  Well,  as  I  was  say- 
ing, sir,"  continued  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "  some  days 
before  her  death  the  marquise  was  talking  of  you, 
and  of  Mme.  Stamply,  whom  she  loved  and  appre- 
ciated. She  was  speaking  of  her  with  that  touching 
kindness  that  you  will  not  have  forgotten.  The  mar- 
quis joined  in  the  conversation,  and  took  pleasure  in 
citing  various  traits  of  the  devotion  and  fidelity 
which  do  honour  to  your  family.  '  They  are  worthy 
people,'  added  Mme.  de  la  Seigliere;  'amid  our  mis- 
fortunes it  is  almost  a  consolation  to  think  that  the 
spoils  of  our  fortune  have  fallen  into  such  clean  and 
honest  hands.' ' 

"  Mother,"  interrupted  Raoul,  who  was  standing 
in  the  window,  and  was  visibly  distressed  at  hearing 
his  mother  talk  in  this  way,  "  a  gust  of  wind  has 

54 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

dispersed  the  storm;  the  sky  is  clear;  wa  can  return 
to  our  own  roof  without  danger." 

The  baronne  rose  and  said,  turning  to  Stamply, 
"  I  must  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kind  hospitality, 
and  congratulate  myself  on  the  chance  that  has  pro- 
cured me  the  advantage  of  knowing  you.  I  sincerely 
trust  that  our  relations  may  not  be  confined  to  this 
first  interview.  The  fulfilment  of  these  wishes  must 
depend  upon  you.  Do  not  forget;  remind  yourself 
often  that  you  have  neighbours  upon  the  opposite 
bank  who  will  always  esteem  themselves  fortunate 
in  receiving  you." 

With  these  words,  pronounced  with  a  grace  that 
enhanced  their  significance  to  a  point  beyond  ex- 
pression, Mme.  de  Vaubert  retired,  leaning  on  her 
son's  arm,  and  escorted  back  by  Stamply,  who  only 
parted  from  his  guests  at  the  gate  of  the  park,  after 
profound  salutations. 

"  And  now,  mother,"  cried  the  young  man,  when 
they  found  themselves  alone,  "  are  you  going  to  give 
me  the  key  to  all  that  I  have  been  seeing  and  hear- 
ing? Only  yesterday  you  despised  and  hated  this 
man;  until  to-day  you  have  only  spoken  of  him  in 
terms  of  contempt.  What  strange  revolution  has 
operated  suddenly  in  your  ideas  and  sentiments?  " 

"  Mon  Dien!  Nothing  is  more  simple,  and  I 
thought  I  had  explained  it  to  you  already,  my  son," 
returned  the  baronne  placidly.  "  Unlike  that  citizen 

4-Vol.  7  55 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

of  Athens  who  condemned  Aristides  to  ostracism 
because  he  was  weary  of  hearing  him  called  '  The 
Just/  from  hearing  so  much  harm  of  M.  Stamply  I 
have  come  round  to  think  well  of  him.  If  legitimate 
prejudices,  along  with  my  old  friendship  for  the  La 
Seiglieres,  and  the  ignorance  of  facts  in  which  I  have 
lived  for  nearly  twenty  years,  have  led  me  into  ill- 
considered  measures,  I  have  for  some  time  felt  re- 
morseful; I  regret  it  at  this  moment." 

"  But,  mother,"  resumed  Raoul,  "  granting  that 
you  were  entitled  to  make  appeal  from  your  own 
judgments,  and  to  quash  the  edicts  you  yourself  put 
forth,  you  were  not  commissioned  by  the  La  Sei- 
glieres to  absolve  the  holder  of  their  lands  in  their 
name.  Do  you  think  the  marquis  would  exonerate 
you  for  making  him,  in  this  instance,  the  partner  in 
your  indulgence?  " 

"  Well,  my  son,"  cried  the  baronne  with  a  ges- 
ture of  impatience,  "  was  one  to  give  the  last  slap 
to  this  poor  heart  that  is  so  cruelly  wounded  al- 
ready? Was  I  to  enter  that  hospitable  roof  only  to 
make  myself  the  echo  of  the  maledictions  of  exile? 
Am  I  guilty,  am  I  criminal,  for  having  tried  to  pour 
some  drops  of  balm  upon  the  wounds  of  that  unfor- 
tunate man?  Ah,  youth  is  pitiless!  I  do  not  know 
if  the  marquis  would  pardon  me,  but  I  am  sure  the 
soul  of  the  marquise  smiles  at  me,  and  approves  my 
deed  from  heaven." 

56 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Stamply's  visit  was  not  long  delayed.  He  pre- 
sented himself,  one  afternoon,  at  the  Chateau  de 
Vaubert,  in  the  most  gallant  costume  he  could  select 
out  of  his  rustic  wardrobe.  Raoul  was  absent.  Not 
being  hampered  by  the  presence  of  her  son,  the  ba- 
ronne  received  her  neighbour  with  all  sorts  of  airs 
and  graces.  She  led  him  on  gently  to  talk  of  his 
son,  and  appeared  interested  in  all  he  had  to  say. 
You  can  picture  the  satisfaction  it  was  to  this  poor 
old  man  to  meet  with  a  kindly  heart  to  whom  he 
could  freely  pour  out  his  woes.  Finally,  however,  he 
began  to  notice  the  modest  appointments  of  the 
salon  in  which  he  had  been  received.  In  thinking  of 
what  had  formerly  been  and  what  now  was  the  posi- 
tion of  the  De  Vauberts  and  the  Stamplys,  he  was 
seized  with  a  vague  sense  of  bashfulness  and  con- 
fusion, that  the  fastidious  will  readily  understand. 
As  if  to  increase  the  embarrassment  of  her  guest, 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  related  the  disillusions  of  her  re- 
turn, and  how,  in  place  of  her  manor  and  estates,  she 
had  found  only  a  pigeon-cote  and  some  few  wretched 
parcels  of  land.  But  she  did  it  with  so  much  grace 
and  gaiety  that  Stamply,  susceptible  and  defiant  as 
he  was,  could  not  take  umbrage,  and,  on  the  con- 
trary, felt  himself  relieved  from  a  great  weight  on 
seeing  the  way  in  which  Mme.  de  Vaubert  accom- 
modated herself  to  her  fortunes. 

"  You  must  stay  and  dine  with  me,"  she  said  to 

57 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

him;  "  my  son  has  gone  to  spend  the  day  with  one 
of  our  friends,  and  will  not  be  home  till  the  evening. 
You  will  keep  me  company.  Solitude  at  our  age  is 
sad.  What  can  one  expect?"  she  added  gaily,  tak- 
ing up  the  thread  of  the  interrupted  conversation; 
"  '  every  dog  has  his  day,'  as  the  proverb  says.  They 
tell  one  that  revolutions  have  their  good  side;  we 
must  believe  it  to  our  cost.  We  do  not  complain. 
Had  it  only  been  God's  will,  as  my  poor,  beloved 
marquise  said  so  often,  had  it  but  pleased  God  that 
all  who  profited  by  our  disasters  had  been  as  honest 
as  yourselves,  resignation  would  have  been  still 
easier  for  us! " 

This  tete-d-tete  dinner  with  the  Baronne  de  Vau- 
bert  was  not  merely  the  crowning  honour  for  Stam- 
ply,  but  it  was  also  the  sweetest  pleasure  he  had 
tasted  for  a  long  time.  It  is  more  particularly  during 
meals  that  isolation  is  so  cruelly  felt.  That  was  the 
time  of  the  day  that  Stamply  dreaded  most.  When 
he  took  his  seat  at  table  opposite  Bernard's  empty 
place  his  sadness  was  redoubled,  and  often,  like  the 
King  of  Thule,  he  drank  his  tears  in  his  cup.  To  him 
this  was  an  improvised  banquet.  The  feast  was  not 
sumptuous;  but  Mme.  de  Vaubert  supplemented  the 
deficiencies  of  the  table  by  the  charm  of  her  wit. 
She  surrounded  her  guest  by  a  thousand  delicate 
little  attentions,  flattered  him,  made  much  of  him, 
spoiled  him  like  a  child,  without  appearing  to  notice 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  gaucheries  and  offences  that  he  committed  in 
matters  of  etiquette  and  of  good-breeding.  At  one 
moment  the  good  man  turned  to  her  with  a  look 
that  cannot  be  expressed  in  words.  You  must  think 
of  the  gentle,  tender,  grateful  eyes  that  the  hound 
turns  upon  the  master  who  is  fondling  him.  The 
worthy  man  was  almost  able  to  believe  that  he  was 
no  longer  alone  in  the  world,  and  that  he  had  a 
family. 

From  that  day  the  visits  between  the  two  man- 
sions became  frequent.  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  by  her 
entreaties  and  remonstrances,  induced  her  son,  little 
by  little,  to  tolerate  the  presence  of  Stamply,  and 
to  receive  him,  if  not  cordially,  at  any  rate  with- 
out too  much  disdain  and  hauteur.  At  the  same 
time,  with  the  view  of  flattering  them,  she  made  a 
study  of  the  tastes  and  fancies  of  the  old  man.  She 
even  managed  to  initiate  herself  into  the  petty  de- 
tails of  his  household,  and  watched  with  quite  ma- 
ternal solicitude  to  see  that  nothing  was  wanting  for 
his  comfort.  Stamply  offered  no  resistance  to  her 
wiles;  he  was  caught  in  them  like  a  fly  in  honey. 
He  passed  rapidly  from  gratitude  to  affection,  from 
affection  to  habit.  The  best  part  of  his  days  was 
spent  at  Vaubert.  He  dined  there  three  days  a 
week.  In  the  morning  he  stopped  there  on  the  way 
to  his  fields;  he  returned  in  the  evening  to  talk  of 
Bernard,  and  of  the  politics  of  the  day,  with  which 

59 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

every  one  was  greatly  preoccupied.  On  fine  even- 
ings Mme.  de  Vaubert  took  his  arm,  and  they  walked 
together  on  the  banks  of  the  Clain. 

You  may  imagine  the  intoxication  of  old  Stam- 
ply  when,  with  the  arm  of  a  baronne  within  his  own, 
and  conversing  familiarly  with  her,  he  shared  in  the 
salutations  she  received,  on  the  very  banks  where 
he  had  formerly  been  greeted  with  showers  of  stones. 
And  some  echo  of  the  consideration  by  which  the 
noble  lady  was  surrounded  had  actually  been  re- 
flected on  him.  If  his  servants  did  not  steal  from 
him  the  less,  they  respected  him  more.  In  short,  one 
would  have  to  revive  the  worn-out  comparison  of  the 
oasis  in  the  desert,  to  paint  in  a  few  words  what  the 
enchanted  apparition  of  the  Baronne  de  Vaubert 
came  to  be  in  the  desolate  life  of  this  man.  His 
autumnal  days  were  warmed  as  if  by  a  gentle  glow. 
His  health  improved,  his  mood  grew  gayer;  his  char- 
acter, embittered  by  sorrow,  recovered  its  native 
goodness.  He  was  enjoying,  as  one  would  say,  his 
St.  Martin's  summer;  but  the  greatest  benefit  he  ob- 
tained from  the  connection  was  the  recovery  of  hi3 
self-esteem,  his  rehabilitation  in  his  own  eyes.  His 
troubled  conscience  was  at  rest;  strong  in  this  lovely 
friendship,  he  raised  his  head  and  bore  his  fortune 
gaily. 

To  these  salutary  influences  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
soon  mingled  others,  slower  and  more  mysterious,  to 

60 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

which  Stamply  yielded  without  attempting  to  take 
account  of  them.  After  possessing  herself  of  the  life 
of  this  man,  she  took  possession  of  his  mind,  and 
kneaded  it  to  her  will,  and  fashioned  it  like  a  block 
of  wax.  She  made  a  study  of  him,  and  resolved  to 
wipe  out  the  last  trace  of  his  revolutionary  ideas. 
By  force  of  subtlety  she  succeeded  in  reconciling  him 
with  the  past,  which  had  oppressed  him,  and  made 
him  break  with  the  principles  which  had  freed  him. 
She  took  him  back,  unknown  to  himself,  to  the  point 
from  which  he  had  started,  and  made  him  unsuspect- 
ingly resume  the  carapace  of  serf  and  vassal  beneath 
which  his  fathers  had  existed.  Meantime  the  names 
of  the  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere  and  of  his  daughter 
came  up  in  every  conversation,  but  with  so  much 
reserve  that  Stamply  did  not  even  think  of  taking 
umbrage.  Without  effort  he  was  brought  to  the 
point  of  being  touched  by  the  fate  of  this  young 
Helene,  whom  Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  never  weary  of 
representing  to  him  as  the  living  image  of  her 
mother.  She  had  the  same  grace,  the  same  charm, 
the  same  goodness.  Stamply  owned  that  at  this  rate 
Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  must  indeed  be  an  angel.  He 
kept  a  few  prejudices  against  the  marquis.  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  set  patiently  to  work  to  stifle  this  old  leaven 
of  '93.  Adversity,  said  she,  is  a  rude  school  in  which 
lessons  are  quickly  learned.  For  her  part,  she  flat- 
tered'herself  that  she  had  learned  much,  and  forgot- 

61 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ten  much  in  it.  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  by  her  account, 
had  become  in  exile  the  perfect  model  of  all  the  vir- 
tues. This  proudest  of  marquises,  would  now  esteem 
it  an  honour  to  shake  the  hand  of  his  former  farmer, 
and  to  call  him  friend.  Stamply  replied  that  in  the 
event  of  such  a  contingency  he  would  deem  it  a  very 
great  honour. 

Months  passed  thus  in  a  peaceful  intimacy  that 
was  unshared  by  Raoul;  the  young  man  was  sad,  and 
desired  solitude.  Meantime,  while  these  events  were 
being  silently  accomplished  in  the  valley  of  the  Clain, 
the  grand  epopee  of  the  empire  had  just  closed  with 
Waterloo.  Time  pressed.  In  a  recent  letter  the 
Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  the  fall  of  Napoleon  must  necessarily  entail  that 
of  Stamply,  and  that  the  first  act  of  the  Bourbons, 
after  their  definite  return  to  France,  would  be  to 
reinstate  all  the  emigres  in  the  possession  of  their 
estates,  was  generous  enough  to  remind  his  old  friend 
of  the  promise  they  had  exchanged,  of  one  day  unit- 
ing Helene  and  Raoul.  Mme.  de  Vaubert  judged 
it  prudent  to  push  on  to  the  end  of  the  little  comedy, 
of  which  she  alone  had  the  secret. 

Her  relations  with  the  farmer  chatelain  were,  as 
may  be  imagined,  a  subject  of  great  amazement  to 
the  country.  Slander  and  calumny  had  not  failed  to 
rally.  Astonishment  and  indignation  were  expressed 
at  the  sight  of  a  friend  of  the  La  Seiglieres  in  com- 

62 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

i 

merce  with  the  man  who  had  displaced  them.  The 
report  that  she  aimed  at  marrying  Stamply  was 
bruited.  The  aristocracy  exclaimed  r.t  the  treason, 
the  plebeians  at  the  scandal.  Whether  she  ignored 
the  current  talk  or  whether  she  despised  it,  the  ba- 
ronne  had  till  now  pursued  her  notion,  without  even 
turning  her  head  to  listen  to  the  crowd,  when  of  a 
sudden  Stamply  thought  he  perceived  symptoms  of 
cooling  off  in  the  evidences  of  the  friendship  that  had 
made  him  so  proud  and  happy.  At  first  he  only 
felt  a  dim  uneasiness,  of  which  he  gave  himself  no 
account,  but  as  these  symptoms  became  more  de- 
cided in  character  from  day  to  day  he  began  to  be 
seriously  alarmed.  And,  in  fact,  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
was  no  longer  the  same;  although  she  tried  to  dis- 
simulate the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  her,  the 
tender  and  susceptible  heart  of  poor  Stamply  was  not 
to  be  deceived.  He  endured  it  a  long  while  in  si- 
lence, and  what  he  suffered  cannot  be  described,  for 
he  had  directed  all  his  affections  to  this  outlet;  he 
had  put  his  whole  heart  and  life  into  this  attachment. 
For  a  long  time  his  mouth  was  closed  by  respect;  but 
on  a  certain  evening,  when  he  found  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert more  absent,  more  reserved,  and  more  con- 
strained than  usual,  he  expressed  his  uneasiness  in  a 
manner  that  may  have  been  indiscreet,  but  was  cer- 
tainly touching.  Mme.  de  Vaubert  seemed  moved 
by  it,  but  remained  impenetrable. 

63 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Madame,  what  has  happened?  I  anticipate 
some  great  misfortune." 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  made  scarcely  any  reply;  only 
when  he  was  about  to  leave,  she  took  his  hands,  and 
pressed  them  in  her  own,  with  an  effusion  of  tender- 
ness that  only  added  to  the  old  man's  fears. 

Next  day  Stamply  was  walking  in  his  park,  still 
greatly  agitated  by  the  events  of  the  previous  even- 
ing, when  a  note  was  brought  him  from  Mme.  de 
Vaubert.  Less  flattered  than  alarmed  by  such  a  rare 
honour,  he  broke  the  seal  with  a  trembling  hand, 
and  read  what  follows  through  his  tears: 

"  You  anticipated  a  great  misfortune ;  your  pre- 
sentiments were  just.  If  you  are  to  suffer  from  it  as 
much  as  I  do  myself  it  is  indeed  a  great  misfortune. 
We  must  not  meet  again;  this  is  imposed  on  us  by 
the  world.  If  only  I  were  involved,  I  would  brave 
its  judgments  with  impunity;  but  for  my  son's  sake 
I  am  bound  to  impose  sacrifices  upon  myself  that  I 
would  never  have  conceded  to  opinion.  Try  to  con- 
ceive the  necessity  by  which  we  are  separated,  and 
let  it  be  a  consolation  to  you  to  think  that  your 
heart  is  not  more  profoundly  afflicted  than  is  that 
of  your  affectionate 

"  BARONNE  DE  VAUBERT." 

At  first  Stamply  understood  one  thing  only — that 
he  had  lost  the  sole  happiness  he  possessed  in  the 

64 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

world.  Then,  on  reading  the  letter  a  second  time,  he 
felt  that  all  the  maledictions  and  all  the  outrages 
from  which  he  had  been  so  long  relieved  by  the 
friendship  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert  were  falling  back 
upon  his  head.  He  saw  himself  plunged  deeper  than 
ever  into  the  gulf  of  solitude;  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
losing  Bernard  a  second  time.  It  was  more  than  an 
affection  that  was  breaking  for  him;  it  was  a  habit. 
What  would  he  do  henceforth  with  his  unoccupied 
days,  with  his  idle  evenings?  Whither  should  be  be- 
take his  heart  and  steps?  They  would  be  aimless; 
everywhere  around  him  would  be  solitude,  silence,  a 
wilderness  of  desolation.  In  his  despair  he  set  out 
for  Vaubert. 

"  Madame,"  he  cried,  entering  the  salon  where 

the  baronne  was  sitting  alone,  "  madame,  what  have 

\ 

I  done?  How  have  I  forfeited  your  esteem?  Why 
did  you  offer  me  your  hand  if  you  were  going  to 
take  it  back  again?  Why  did  you  summon  me  if  you 
intended  to  shut  me  out  so  pitilessly?  Why  free  me 
from  my  worries  if  you  meant  to  fling  me  back  on 
them  so  soon?  Look  at  me:  I  am  old,  and  my  days 
are  numbered.  Could  you  not  have  waited  a  little 
longer?  I  have  only  a  short  time  to  live." 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  at  first  applied  herself  to  sooth- 
ing him  with  protestations  of  her  affection,  while 
she  addressed  him  in  tender  words.  When  she  saw 
that  he  was  calmer  she  attempted  to  make  him  un- 

65 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

derstand  the  imperious  motives  to  which  she  had 
been  forced  to  yield.  She  appeared  to  perform  this 
task  with  an  extreme  reserve,  an  exquisite  delicacy; 
but  in  reality  every  word  she  uttered  entered  like  the 
blade  of  a  dagger  into  Stamply's  heart.  Some  ves- 
tiges of  pride  sustained  and  reanimated  him. 

"  You  are  right,  madame,"  he  said,  rising.  "  It 
is  I  who  am  a  senseless  fool.  I  will  go,  without  com- 
plaint or  murmur.  Only  I  would  have  you  recollect, 
madame,  that  I  should  never  have  dared  to  solicit  the 
honour  you  offered  me;  recollect  also  that  I  did 
not  deceive  you,  and  that  in  our  very  first  inter- 
view I  myself  informed  you  of  the  outrages  and  cal- 
umnies that  the  world  had  heaped  upon  my  head." 

With  these  words  he  walked  resolutely  towards 
the  door;  but,  exhausted  by  the  effort  he  had  made 
to  preserve  his  dignity,  he  collapsed  into  an  arm- 
chair, and  gave  free  vent  to  his  grief. 

In  the  presence  of  such  real  sorrow  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  herself  felt  a  genuine  emotion. 

"  My  friend,"  she  said, '"  listen  to  me.  You  may 
imagine  that  I  have  not  resigned  myself  without  an 
effort  to  the  rupture  of  a  connection  in  which  I 
found  as  much  satisfaction  as  yourself.  I  had  be- 
come tenderly  attached  to  you;  I  took  pleasure  in 
the  notion  that  I  counted  perhaps  for  something 
good  and  consoling  in  your  life.  On  your  side  you 
helped  me  to  endure  the  weight  of  a  very  sad  exist- 

66 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ence.  Your  goodness  charmed  me;  your  presence 
was  a  distraction  in  my  worries.  I  leave  you  to 
judge  whether  I  decided  willingly  to  lacerate  your 
heart  and  my  own.  I  hesitated  for  a  long  while;  at 
last,  out  of  consideration  for  my  son,  I  believed  my- 
self forced  to  give  satisfaction  to  this  foolish  and 
naughty  world,  to  which,  had  the  matter  concerned 
myself  alone,  I  should  not  have  sacrificed  a  hair  of 
your  head.  I  was  forced  to  do  it;  I  have  done  it. 
And  yet,"  she  added,  after  some  instants  of  silent 
reflection,  glancing  suddenly  at  Stamply  with  a  look 
that  made  him  tremble,  "  if  there  should  be  some 
way  of  conciliating  the  exigencies  of  my  position  and 
the  care  of  your  happiness — if  there  should  be  a 
means  of  imposing  silence  on  the  clamours  of  the 
crowd,  and  of  assuring  your  old  age  of  happy  days 
of  peace  and  honour?  " 

"  Oh,  speak,  speak,  madame;  what  is  this  way?" 
cried  the  old  man  with  the  joy  of  the  shipwrecked 
mariner  who  thinks  he  sees  a  white  sail  on  the 
horizon. 

"  My  friend,"  returned  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "  I  have 
duly  reflected  on  your  destiny.  After  considering  it 
in  all  its  several  phases  and  aspects,  I  am  obliged 
to  recognise  that  there  is  no  one  less  to  be  envied,  and 
that  you  are,  to  say  the  truth,  the  most  unfortunate 
of  mortals.  You  are  right ;  the  ancient  Job  upon  his 
dunghill  was  less  to  be  pitied  than  are  you  in  the 

67 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

lap  of  prosperity.  Rich,  you  have  no  employment 
for  your  riches.  Other  men  have  erected  between 
themselves  and  you  a  wall  of  opprobrium  and  of 
ignominy.  Till  now,  outrage,  abuse,  and  public  con- 
tempt have  been  the  most  obvious  of  your  revenues. 
You  only  held  on  to  social  life  by  a  single  tie;  this 
tie  broken,  you  have  not  one  soul  with  whom  to  shel- 
ter. I  foresee  your  old  age  given  over  to  mercenary 
cares.  You  will  not  even,  at  the  last  hour,  have  the 
consolation  of  bequeathing  this  fortune,  which  has 
cost  you  so  dear,  to  some  one  you  love;  one  heir 
»alone  remains  to  you,  the  state,  of  all  inheritors  the 
least  interesting  and  the  most  ungrateful.  The  ques- 
tion is,  whether  it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  you 
to  have  a  family  who  would  cherish  you  as  a  father, 
to  grow  old  surrounded  by  love  and  tenderness,  to 
hear  round  you  only  a  chorus  of  benedictions,  to 
let  your  dying  eyes  rest  upon  those  whom  you  have 
made  happy,  so  that  you  leave  behind  you  nothing 
but  a  cherished  and  venerated  memory." 

"A  family — me!"  cried  the  old  man  in  a  dis- 
tracted voice.  "  Me,  Stamply,  the  old  rogue,  as  they 
call  me,  surrounded  by  tenderness  and  love,  by 
unanimous  blessings!  my  memory  cherished  and 
venerated!  Alas!  madame,  where  is  this  family?  My 
wife  and  my  child  are  in  heaven,  and  I  am  all  alone 
down  here." 

"  Ungrateful  man,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 
68 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

smiling,  "  half  this  family  is  already  within  your 
grasp." 

With  a  little  subtlety  or  vanity  Stamply  might 
have  believed  that  Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  courting 
the  opportunity  of  a  mesalliance  with  him,  but  the 
worthy  man  was  neither  subtle  nor  vain,  and  despite 
the  intimacy  of  his  relations  with  the  baronne,  he 
had  never  forgotten  the  distance  that  still  separated 
the  parvenu  peasant  from  the  impoverished  aristo- 
crat. Hence  he  remained  on  tenter-hooks,  with 
gaping  mouth,  hesitating,  confused,  not  knowing 
what  interpretation  to  put  on  the  words  he  had  just 
heard. 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  my  friend,"  re- 
sumed Mme.  de  Vaubert,  calmly,  "  to  ask  yourself 
what  Napoleon's  glory  would  have  been,  if,  compre- 
hending his  divine  mission,  this  soldier  of  fortune 
had,  after  crushing  the  factions,  replaced  the  Bour- 
bons upon  the  throne  of  their  ancestors?  Let  us 
suppose  for  an  instant  that  instead  of  dreaming  that 
he  was  to  found  a  dynasty,  this  Corsican,  who  to-day 
is  proscribed  and  miserable,  heaped  with  opprobrium, 
tracked  and  muzzled  like  a  wild  beast,  had  placed 
his  sword  and  his  ambitions  at  the  service  of  our 
legitimate  princes?  What  destiny  would  not  have 
paled  before  the  destiny  of  this  man!  The  world, 
which  curses  him,  would  have  contemplated  him  with 
admiration;  the  kings  who  swore  his  downfall  would 

69 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

have  disputed  the  honour  of  giving  him  their  hand; 
and,  Emperor  indeed  from  the  day  he  ceased  to  reign, 
the  aureole  he  wore  upon  his  forehead  would  have 
humiliated  the  splendour  of  the  diadem." 

"And  my  little  Bernard  would  still  be  alive," 
added  Stamply  with  a  sigh. 

"  My  friend,"  cried  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "  by  what 
strange  oversight,  by  what  fatal  enchantment,  did 
we  not  both  understand  that  Providence  had  placed 
in  your  hands  a  very  similar  destiny,  and  that  it  de- 
pended on  you  to  realize  this  beautiful  dream?  " 

At  these  words  Stamply  pricked  up  his  ears  like 
a  hare  that  hears  the  heather  rustling  round  it. 

"  Ah,  for  you,  at  any  rate,  there  is  still  time," 
pursued  the  baronne  with  enthusiasm.  "  What  that 
man  failed  to  do  you  may  accomplish  in  the  less  ex- 
alted sphere  in  which  Providence  has  placed  you. 
Consult  your  heart,  probe  your  conscience;  your 
heart  is  good,  your  conscience  intact.  Men,  how- 
ever, judge  you  otherwise;  and  for  yourself,  irre- 
proachable as  you  are,  does  it  never  happen  to  you 
to  feel  disquieted  and  ill  at  ease,  when  you  remember 
that  the  last  scion  of  a  family  that  heaped  benefits 
upon  your  own  is  languishing,  disinherited,  upon 
stranger  soil?  Well,  then,  in  a  single  word  you  can 
legitimize  your  fortune,  confound  envy,  disarm  opin- 
ion, changing  to  applause  the  outrages  which  are 
heaped  on  you,  restore  yourself  to  your  own  self- 

70 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

esteem,  and  give  the  world  one  of  those  great  ex- 
amples which  from  time  to  time  have  elevated 
humanity." 

"  The  old  rogue  does  not  set  his  ambitions  so 
high,  madame,"  replied  Stamply,  shaking  his  head. 
"  He  has  no  pretension  to  set  an  example  to  the 
world;  he  does  not  claim  the  task  of  elevating  hu- 
manity; he  attends  to  more  humble  tasks.  Besides 
which,  madame,  I  do  not  understand  very  clearly." 

"  If  you  do  not  understand,  there  is  no  more  to  be 
said,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert  coldly. 

Stamply  had  understood  too  well.  Though  farm- 
er by  birth  and  peasant  by  origin,  he  was,  as  we 
have  said,  neither  shrewd  nor  subtle,  nor  even  very 
far-sighted;  but  he  was  of  a  suspicious  nature,  and 
mistrust,  in  case  of  need,  took  the  place  of  artifice. 
Not  only  did  he  understand  what  the  baronne  was 
driving  at,  but  he  also  believed  this  to  be  the  clew 
to  the  advances  made  him. 

"  I  understand  you,  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  he  said  at 
last,  with  that  profound  feeling  of  sadness  experi- 
enced by  sensitive  minds  when,  on  gauging  the  affec- 
tion they  believed  sincere  and  disinterested,  they  dis- 
cover beneath  the  upper  surface  a  bottomless  gulf 
of  egoism,  "  only  I  think  you  are  making  a  mistake. 
I  have  no  need  to  legitimize  my  fortune,  seeing  that 
my  fortune  is  legitimate.  I  owe  it  to  my  labours 
alone.  As  to  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  it  is  quite  true 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

that  I  never  think  without  emotion  of  this  child, 
who,  you  tell  me,  is  the  living  image  of  her  mother. 
I  have  often  been  tempted  to  send  her  some  assist- 
ance; I  have  wished  to,  I  have  not  dared." 

'  You  would  be  wrong  to  forget  her;  there  are 
misfortunes  that  can  accept  no  help  other  than  the 
prayers  and  sympathy  offered  up  for  them,"  replied 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  with  dignity;  "but  allow  me  to 
tell  you,"  she  added  in  a  more  affectionate  tone, 
"  that  you  have  misunderstood;  I  was  thinking  only 
of  your  happiness.  I  was  arguing,  not  from  your 
duties,  but  simply  for  your  convenience.  What  have 
I  said  that  has  wounded  or  offended  you?  Chance 
has  thrown  us  together.  I  am  interested  in  your 
fate.  I  feel  that  I  am  a  consolation  to  you;  I  like 
you  the  better  for  it.  And  yet  it  happens  one  fine 
day  that  we  are  separated  by  an  envious  and  jealous 
world.  My  heart  is  wrung  by  this;  you  are  alarmed 
at  it.  In  this  contingency  I  suggest,  foolishly  per- 
haps, that  in  recalling  the  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere 
and  his  daughter,  by  offering  to  partake  with  them 
a  fortune  you  don't  want,  you  would  secure  for  your 
old  age  rest,  and  peace,  and  honour.  Thereupon, 
my  imagination  becomes  excited.  I  see  you  sur- 
rounded with  affection  and  homage;  instead  of 
breaking,  our  intimacy  is  assured;  the  people  who 
proscribe  you  will  seek  you  out;  the  voices  that  curse 
you  will  bless;  God  has  taken  away  the  son  whom 

72 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

you  adored,  he  gives  you  back  an  adorable  daughter. 
This  picture  moves  and  rouses  me.  As  an  idea  I 
suggest  it  to  you.  Let  us  agree  that  it  was  a  dream. 
And  now  be  happy.  I  am  willing  to  believe  that 
I  have  exaggerated  the  sadness  of  your  position. 
You  will  return  to  solitude.  Nature  is  good,  society 
nothing  to  regret.  You  are  rich;  a  fortune,  when  all 
is  said,  is  a  delightful  possession;  I  earnestly  desire 
that  it  may  stand  for  you  in  the  place  of  all  the  rest." 

Having  said  this,  with  a  manner  so  easy  and 
natural  that  the  old  man  was  quite  shaken  by  it, 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  rose  and  withdrew,  under  pretext 
of  paying  a  visit  in  the  neighbourhood,  leaving 
Stamply  alone,  a  prey  to  his  reflections. 

These  reflections  were  anything  but  joyful. 
Stamply  went  home,  ill-pleased  with  a  proposition 
that  would  not  have  suited  him  in  any  way,  even 
supposing  it  to  have  been  made  solely  from  the  point 
of  view  of  his  own  happiness.  He  was  a  good  old 
man;  we  have  nowhere  claimed  that  he  was  a  saint. 
For  example,  he  had  one  passion  against  which  all 
the  insinuations  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert  were  directed  in 
vain.  In  these  docile  natures,  pliant  and  malleable  as 
you  will,  it  is  by  no  means  rare  to  encounter  a  hard 
point  of  infrangible  resistance,  that  no  effort  can 
break  down;  it  is  the  steel  ring  in  the  chain  of  gold. 
Stamply  was  avaricious  after  his  fashion;  he  had  a 
passion  for  property.  He  loved  it  for  itself,  as  cer« 

73 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

tain  minds  love  power.  All  his  revenues  were  ex- 
pended in  buying  land;  it  was  thus  that  he  had  suc- 
ceeded little  by  little,  by  successive  encroachments, 
in  buying  back  in  its  entirety  the  ancient  demesne  of 
La  Seigliere.  Of  late  he  had  even  got  possession  of 
two  or  three  metairies  that  had  been  alienated  for 
more  than  a  century.  Certainly  it  would  have  been 
a  fine  thing  to  have  accomplished  this  great  work 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  offering  it  to  M.  le  Mar- 
quis; but,  as  Stamply  said  himself,  he  made  no  pre- 
tension of  giving  his  contemporaries  such  a  striking 
lesson  of  abnegation,  of  self-sacrifice  and  disinter- 
estedness. He  thought  that  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
talked  of  it  too  lightly,  and  that  before  making  any 
decision  it  was  worth  looking  at  the  matter  from 
both  sides.  He  went  home,  resolved  to  give  up  a 
friendship  that  would  cost  him  so  dear. 

At  the  outset  resignation  was  easy.  Wounded 
affection,  offended  pride,  the  fear  that  he  had  been 
made  a  dupe,  restored  to  him  some  vestiges  of  vital 
heat  and  energy.  All  his  old  instincts  of  independ- 
ence and  equality  awoke,  and  for  a  moment  took  the 
upper  hand;  but  this  sort  of  hyper-excitation  soon 
went  out  like  a  fire  of  chaff.  In  Mme.  de  Vaubert's 
company  he  had  contracted  the  habit  of  familiar 
intercourse  and  intimate  confidences.  Suddenly  re- 
duced to  silence,  he  felt  himself  before  long  the  prey 
to  mortal  ennui.  In  a  very  few  days  he  lost  the  inte- 

74 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

rior  peace  and  gentle  serenity  that  he  had  derived 
from  the  De  Vaubert  connection.  Deprived  of  its 
sole  stay,  his  conscience  began  once  more  to  fail  him. 
Vanity  took  its  part  in  tormenting  the  poor  soul. 
His  expulsion  from  Vaubert  was  no  sort  of  mystery. 
The  general  rumour  was  that  Mme.  de  Vaubert  had 
ignominiously  driven  out  the  "  old  rogue,"  and  he 
was  ridiculed  for  it.  Stamply  might  have  remained 
ignorant  of  all  this  foolish  talk,  but  one  evening, 
crossing  the  park,  he  overheard  his  servants,  not 
knowing  him  to  be  so  near,  jesting  gaily  about  his 
misfortunes.  His  farmers,  before  whom  in  happier 
days  he  had  flaunted  his  illustrious  friendship,  affect- 
ed to  inquire  of  him  the  latest  news  of  Mme.  la 
Baronne.  If  he  stayed  at  home,  roaming  dejectedly 
from  room  to  room,  his  household  would  come  to 
him  with  an  officious  air,  asking  first  one  and  then 
the  other  why  their  master  did  not  cheer  up,  and  dis- 
tract his  thoughts  by  paying  a  visit  to  Mme.  la 
Baronne.  If  he  decided  on  going  out  to  wander  sad- 
ly about  the  country,  the  servants  said  to  themselves, 
loud  enough  to  be  overheard,  "  There's  master 
going  to  pass  a  couple  of  hours  with  her  Ladyship." 
Though  of  a  patient  disposition,  he  was  often  tempt- 
ed to  hit  them  over  the  head  with  his  cornel  stick. 

The  words  "  Mme.  la  Baronne "  echoed  inces- 
santly in  his  heart  and  in  his  ears.  The  sight  of  the 
Chateau  de  Vaubert  plunged  him  into  an  infinite 

75 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

melancholy.  He  often  remained  for  hours  silent  and 
motionless,  contemplating  the  lost  and  regretted 
Eden.  Even  the  love  of  property,  that  we  have 
already  mentioned,  no  longer  sufficed  for  him;  Mme. 
de  Vaubert  had  developed  in  him  other  instincts, 
other  appetites,  other  no  less  imperious  needs. 
Moreover,  that  passion,  the  sole  remaining  to  him  in 
this  world,  was  poisoned  at  its  source.  He  remem- 
bered with  terror  the  miserable  end  of  his  excellent 
consort,  Mme.  Stamply — her  scruples,  her  fears,  her 
remorse,  the  last  words  she  had  pronounced  before 
she  expired.  He  thought  of  it  by  day,  he  dreamed  of 
it  by  night;  excited  by  loneliness,  his  imagination 
peopled  his  very  sleep  with  lugubrious  images — now 
the  irritated  spectre  of  his  wife,  and  now  the  weep- 
ing shade  of  Mme.  de  la  Seigliere.  After  a  week 
or  two  of  this  tortured  existence,  he  turned,  uncon- 
sciously, to  the  idea  that  the  baronne  had  indicated 
to  him  as  a  harbour.  At  first  no  more  than  a  lumi- 
nous point,  scintillating  through  the  mists  on  the  far 
horizon,  insensibly  this  point  enlarged,  drew  nearer, 
and  shone  out  as  a  lighthouse.  By  dint  of  examin- 
ing it  under  every  aspect,  Stamply  ended  by  grasping 
its  poetic  and  attractive  side.  If  his  instincts  were 
defiant,  at  heart  he  was  simple-minded,  honest,  and 
credulous.  He  asked  himself  if  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
had  not  indeed  revealed  the  secret  of  happiness  to 
him.  Granting  even  that  her  arguments  were  only 

76 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

special  pleading  for  the  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere  and 
his  daughter,  Stamply  was  obliged  to  admit  that 
from  his  own  stand-point  she  could  not  have  had  bet- 
ter inspiration.  The  perspective  of  happiness  that 
she  had  shown  him  disengaged  itself  little  by  little 
from  the  clouds  that  obscured  it,  and  converged  into 
an  enchanted  day.  He  pictured  his  house  embel- 
lished by  the  presence  of  a  young  and  charming  crea- 
ture; he  saw  himself  introduced  by  the  gratitude  of 
the  marquis  into  the  society  that  had  disclaimed  him; 
he  heard  a  chorus  of  praises  rising  up  around  his 
steps;  he  seemed  to  see  Mme.  de  la  Seigliere,  good 
Mme.  Stamply,  and  his  little  Bernard,  smiling  down 
on  him  from  heaven.  Mistrust,  however,  still  held 
him  back  from  these  favourable  inclinations.  By 
what  title,  for  instance,  could  the  marquis  and  his 
daughter  return  to  this  chateau  and  its  demesne?  If 
he  were  to  resign  a  fortune  so  laboriously  acquired, 
would  this  not  be  taken  as  a  tacit  confession  that  it 
had  been  usurped  ?  Instead  of  confounding  the  en- 
vious, he  would  merely  be  placing  a  new  weapon  in 
their  hands.  Before  taking  any  step,  Stamply  re- 
solved to  see  Mme.  de  Vaubert  and  take  counsel 
with  her;  but  he  had  hardly  touched  on  the  subject 
of  his  visit  when  she  interrupted  him  peremptorily. 

"  I  must  beg,"  said  she,  "  that  there  be  no  further 
question  of  this  matter  between  us.  There  are  things 
that  can  neither  be  weighed  nor  discussed.  I  repeat 

77 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

that  it  was  your  happiness  alone  that  I  sought  and 
wished.  There  was  no  question  in  my  mind  of  the 
marquis  nor  of  his  daughter;  you  alone  were  at  stake 
— so  much  so  that  had  my  idea  been  welcome  to  you, 
and  had  the  marquis  accepted  it,  the  benefactor,  in 
my  opinion,  would  have  been,  not  you,  but  he.  Keep 
your  wealth,  we  are  not  jealous  of  it.  It  is  said  that 
poverty  is  bitter  to  those  who  have  known  wealth. 
This  is  a  mistake;  the  contrary  is  true.  We  have 
known  fortune,  and  poverty  is  welcome  to  us." 

Whereupon,  after  inquiring  after  the  health  of 
her  old  friend,  and  how  he  arranged  his  life,  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  gave  him  politely  to  understand  that  he 
must  now  withdraw;  which  he  did,  greatly  bewildered 
at  the  lofty  sentiments  that  had  just  been  expressed 
for  his  benefit.  He  accused  himself  of  having  calum- 
niated such  disinterested  intentions;  and  although 
he  thought  it  a  little  strange  that  the  marquis  should 
in  this  instance  pose  as  the  benefactor,  and  he, 
Stamply,  for  the  obliged  person,  he  went,  no  later 
than  the  next  day,  to  hand  himself  over,  soul  and 
body,  to  the  discretion  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who 
appeared  neither  delighted  nor  much  surprised  there- 
at. She  even  displayed  considerable  reluctance  to 
undertake  the  affair,  for  fear,  she  said,  of  offend- 
ing the  susceptibilities  of  her  friends.  Stamply  be- 
came the  more  keen  in  proportion  as  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert showed  less  enthusiasm;  and  if  it  ever  could  be 

78 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

a  pleasant  matter  to  witness  the  heart  duped  by  wit, 
and  good-nature  exploited  by  guile,  it  had  surely 
been  an  amusing  scene  in  which  the  good  man  im- 
plored the  baronne,  who  protested  against  it,  to  in- 
tercede for  him,  and  to  obtain  from  the  marquis  the 
grace  of  consenting  to  return  to  property  that  was 
worth  a  million. 

"  If  they  will  only  love  old  Stamply  a  little,"  he 
said;  "  if  only  he  may  see  happy  faces  smiling  on  him 
at  the  end  of  his  life;  if  only  there  be  some  friendly 
hand  to  close  his  eyes,  some  one  to  shed  a  tear  at 
his  death — here  below,  and  up  above,  old  Stamply 
will  be  content." 

You  may  imagine  that  Mme.  de  Vaubert  yielded 
finally  to  these  touching  entreaties;  what  you  could 
not  picture  is  the  joy  felt  by  the  old  simpleton  after 
he  had  thus  prepared  his  own  ruin.  He  seized  the 
baronne's  hands  and  pressed  them  to  his  heart  with 
a  feeling  of  ineffable  gratitude.-  "  For,"  said  he  in 
a  broken  voice,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  it  is  you, 
madame,  who  have  pointed  me  out  the  way  to 
heaven." 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  felt  indeed  that  it  was  murder 
to  mislead  such  a  perfect  soul;  but,  now  as  always, 
she  soon  appeased  the  murmurs  of  her  conscience  by 
saying  that  Stamply's  fate  was  involved  in  the  suc- 
cess of  her  enterprise,  that  she  would  not  have  em- 
barked on  it  save  to  secure  the  happiness  of  this 

S— Vol.  7  79 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

man,  and  that  in  all  things  the  end  justifies  the 
means.  Nothing  remained  save  to  deceive  the  pride 
of  the  marquis,  whom  she  knew  to  be  too  good  an 
aristocrat  ever  to  demean  himself  by  accepting  alms 
from  his  quondam  farmer.  The  baronne  wrote: 

"  Devoured  with  remorse,  without  children, 
friends,  family,  Jean  Stamply  only  awaits  your  re- 
turn to  restore  all  your  property  to  you.  Come, 
then.  As  the  price  of  his  tardy  honesty,  the  un- 
fortunate old  man  begs  only  that  we  care  for  him  a 
little:  we  will  care  for  him  much.  Think  of  the 
Bearnais  proverb,  '  Paris  is  well  worth  a  mass.' ' 

A  month  later,  the  return  of  M.  de  la  Seigliere 
was  accomplished  quietly  without  display  or  talk. 
Stamply  received  him  at  the  gate  of  the  park,  and 
immediately  presented  him,  by  way  of  keys  upon  a 
silver  tray,  with  an  act  of  donation,  drawn  up  in 
touching  terms,  in  which  the  donor,  by  an  exquisite 
feeling  of  delicacy,  humiliated  himself  before  the  re- 
cipient of  his  gift. 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  he  said  to  him,  "  you  are  at 
home." 

The  speech  was  short.  The  marquis  thought  it 
well  expressed.  He  pocketed  the  act  which  restored 
him  to  the  ownership  of  all  his  property,  embraced 
Stamply,  and  took  his  arm;  then,  followed  by  his 
daughter,  who  walked  between  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
and  Raoul,  he  entered  his  chateau,  as  young  in 

80 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Spirit  as  when  he  left  it,  with  no  more  ado  than  if 
he  had  been  returning  from  an  afternoon  walk. 

And  if,  to  pursue  the  suppositions  of  Mme.  de 
Vaubert,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  reducing  the  gran- 
deur of  his  part  to  the  insignificant  proportions  of 
bourgeois  honesty,  had  consented  to  be  merely  the 
man  of  business  to  the  Bourbon  family;  if,  after  pick- 
ing up  the  crown  of  France  at  his  sword's  point,  he 
had  set  it  on  the  head  of  the  descendants  of  St. 
Louis,  instead  of  placing  it  upon  his  own  brow,  it  is 
to  be  feared  that  one  chapter  the  more  would  by  now 
have  been  added  to  the  great  Book  of  the  Ingratitude 
of  Kings.  No  outrage  on  royalty,  nor  on  any  indi- 
vidual, is  intended;  we  allude  solely  to  that  ungrate- 
ful species  known  in  general  as  Humanity.  Without 
seeking  such  high  examples,  let  us  stay,  and  form  our 
own  judgment,  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Clain. 


81 


CHAPTER   IV 

AT  first  all  went  well;  the  first  months  amply 
realized  all  the  predictions  of  happiness  that  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  had  showered  upon  Stamply.  One  may 
even  affirm  that  the  reality  far  exceeded  the  old 
/nan's  hopes.  On  August  25,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  Fete  du  Roi,  when  M.  de  la  Seigliere  called  to- 
gether some  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  town  and  neigh- 
bourhood, Stamply  was  placed  between  the  marquis 
and  his  daughter;  at  dessert,  his  health  was  drunk 
with  enthusiasm  immediately  after  that  of  Louis 
le  Desire.  He  dined  in  the  same  way  daily  at  the 
table  of  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  more  frequently  than  not 
in  the  company  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert  and  her  son;  for, 
as  in  exile,  the  two  establishments  formed,  properly 
speaking,  but  one.  They  entertained  little  company: 
their  evenings  were  spent  in  the  domestic  circle. 
Stamply  was  present  at  every  gathering,  honoured  as 
a  patriarch  and  caressed  as  a  child.  The  marquis 
had  insisted  on  his  occupying  the  finest  apartments 
in  the  chateau.  His  servants,  who  hardly  did  him 
any  services  and  showed  him  no  respect,  found  them- 
selves replaced  by  diligent  and  obedient  valets,  who 

82 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

watched  over  his  requirements  and  anticipated  his 
every  desire.  They  vied  with  one  another  in  sur- 
rounding him  with  all  the  attentions  dear  to  old  age; 
nothing  was  done  without  consulting  him.  To  these 
many  allurements  must  be  added  the  presence  of 
Mile,  de  la  Seigliere;  while,  for  ten  miles  round,  the 
country  rang  with  hymns  to  the  honour  of  the  most 
upright  of  farmers. 

But  few  months  had  passed,  however,  before  the 
life  at  the  chateau  changed  its  pace  and  character. 
Still  as  vigorous  and  alert  as  he  had  been  at  twenty, 
M.  de  la  Seigliere  was  not  the  man  to  content  him- 
self for  long  with  domestic  felicity.  He  had  taken 
to  his  fortune  again  like  yesterday's  coat,  and 
remembered  the  past  only  as  some  fleeting  shower. 
Lively,  nimble,  cheery,  in  good  health,  he  was  as 
well  preserved  in  exile  as  a  primrose  under  the  snow. 
The  twenty-five  years  that  had  elapsed  had  not  aged 
him  by  a  day.  He  had  found  the  triple  secret  which 
enables  one  to  die  young  at  a  hundred:  egoism,  light- 
heartedness,  frivolity;  for  the  rest,  he  was  the  most 
amiable  and  the  most  charming  of  marquises.  No 
one  would  have  believed,  after  a  few  months,  that  a 
Revolution  had  passed  that  way.  The  ceilings  and 
panels  were  regilded,  the  furniture  and  hangings 
renewed,  the  monograms  and  escutcheons  replaced; 
every  trace  of  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians  had 
been  washed  off,  scraped,  and  obliterated.  To  bor- 

83 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

row  the  charitable  expressions  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 
who  by  this  time  stood  on  no  ceremony  in  her  jokes, 
the  stables  of  Augeas  had  been  cleaned  out.  Soon 
there  were  ceaseless  fetes  and  galas,  receptions  and 
royal  hunts.  From  morning  till  night,  often  from 
night  till  morning,  carriages  with  armorial  bearings 
pressed  into  the  courts  and  avenues.  The  Chateau 
de  la  Seigliere  became  the  salon  of  all  the  aristocracy 
in  the  country.  An  army  of  lackeys  and  scullions 
had  invaded  the  kitchens  and  antechambers.  Twen- 
ty horses  were  pawing  in  the  stables;  the  kennels 
were  full  of  dogs;  the  huntsmen's  horns  were  heard 
all  day.  Stamply  had  reckoned  on  a  more  peaceful 
home,  on  simpler  manners,  on  more  modest  tastes; 
he  had  not  yet  reached  the  sum  of  his  deceptions. 

In  the  first  intoxication  of  the  return  everything 
about  him  was  pronounced  charming — his  costume, 
his  gestures,  his  language,  even  his  fustian  waistcoats. 
The  marquis  and  Mme.  de  Vaubert  called  him  openly 
their  friend,  and  complimented  him  profusely. 

They  never  tired  of  listening  to  him,  they  ap- 
plauded everything  he  said.  He  was  the  pink  of  the 
old  fashions,  a  sainted  character,  a  venerable  patri- 
arch. When  the  pace,  of  the  chateau  had  been  set 
to  a  brilliant,  well-marked  tune,  they  began  to  recog- 
nise that  he  made  a  false  note  in  the  composition. 
No  one  said  so  just  at  first.  For  quite  a  long  while 
the  marquis  and  Mme.  de  Vaubert  still  referred  to 

84 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  good,  dear,  excellent  M.  Stamply;  only  from 
time  to  time  they  qualified  it  with  certain  reserva- 
tions. From  one  evasion  to  another,  from  limita- 
tion to  limitation,  they  arrived  at  a  mutual  confes- 
sion that  this  pink  of  old  fashion  was  a  boor,  this 
patriarch  a  clown.  They  were  galled  by  his  famil- 
iarities, after  having  encouraged  them;  what  had 
passed  some  months  before  as  the  geniality  of  a 
crony,  was  by  this  time  only  the  coarseness  of  a 
vulgar  mind.  As  long  as  they  confined  themselves 
to  the  family  circle,  it  could  be  endured  with  resig- 
nation; in  the  midst  of  the  luxury  and  splendour  of 
aristocratic  life,  the  good  man  was  obviously  no 
longer  welcome.  What  the  marquis  and  the  ba- 
ronne  never  admitted  to  each  other,  what  they  both 
took  good  care  not  to  confess  even  to  themselves, 
was  that  they  owed  him  too  much  to  love  him. 

Gratitude,  like  that  alpine  flower  that  grows  upon 
the  heights,  and  dies  in  the  lower  regions,  flourishes 
only  in  elevated  natures.  Or  again,  it  is  like  that 
choice  Eastern  essence  that  can  be  preserved  only 
in  golden  vessels*  it  yields  its  perfume  in  great  souls 
and  turns  bitter  in  small  minds.  The  presence  of 
Stamply  reminded  the  marquis  of  importunate  obli- 
gations; the  baronne  owed  him  a  secret  grudge  for 
the  part  she  had  played  in  regard  to  him.  Accord- 
ingly, they  prepared  to  turn  him  out,  with  all  the 
consideration  and  all  the  discretion  practised  by 

85 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

those  who  are  comme  il  faut.  On  the  pretext  that 
the  rooms  he  occupied  in  the  centre  of  the  chateau 
were  exposed  to  the  north  winds,  they  relegated  him 
to  the  most  remote  quarter  of  the  building.  After 
observing  one  day,  with  affectionate  solicitude,  that 
noisy  gatherings  and  sumptuous  repasts  were  suited 
neither  to  his  taste  nor  to  his  years,  that  his  habits 
and  his  digestion  might  suffer  for  such  indiscretions, 
the  marquis  begged  him  not  to  incommode  himself, 
and  decided  that  he  should  dine  separately  in  future. 
In  vain  did  Stamply  refuse,  protesting  that  he  could 
perfectly  accommodate  himself  to  the  hours  of  M.  le 
Marquis.  The  marquis  would  not  hear  of  it,  and 
declared  that  he  never  would  consent  to  let  his  old 
friend  be  put  about  for  the  sake  of  his  guests.  "  You 
are  in  your  own  home  here,"  he  said  to  him;  "  do 
make  yourself  at  home,  live  as  you  like.  At  your 
age  one's  habits  cannot  change."  And  so  on,  till 
Stamply  ended  by  taking  all  his  meals  in  his  own 
room,  like  a  recluse.  The  rest  corresponded.  By 
insensible  transitions  they  got  to  treating  him  with 
exaggerated  politeness;  the  marquis  held  him  at  a 
distance  by  his  very  consideration;  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
forced  him  to  beat  a  retreat  under  the  cross-fire  of 
her  grand  airs  and  fine  manners.  As  soon  as  he 
appeared  with  his  nailed  shoes,  blue  woollen  stock- 
ings, and  corded  breeches,  they  pretended  to  pitch 
the  conversation  in  the  court  tone;  not  knowing 

86 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

what  to  make  of  it,  Stamply  would  retire  in  con- 
fusion, humiliated  and  crestfallen. 

And  thus  the  wall  of  clay  that  had  so  long  sepa- 
rated him  from  society  changed  by  degrees  into  a 
crystal  mirror,  a  transparent  barrier  indeed,  but  as 
impassable  as  the  former;  while  the  worthy  man  had 
the  added  satisfaction  of  seeing  all  the  revenues  of 
the  fine  estate,  which  he  had  reconstructed  at  the 
price  of  twenty-five  years  of  labour  and  privation, 
dissipated  in  fire-works  of  every  kind.  In  the  even- 
ing, after  his  solitary  meal,  when  he  passed  under  the 
windows  of  the  chateau,  he  heard  joyous  bursts  of 
conversation  mingled  with  the  rattle  of  glass  and 
porcelain.  By  day,  wandering  sad  and  alone  over 
the  lands  he  had  loved  so  dearly,  which  no  longer 
recognised  him  as  master,  he  saw  from  afar  the 
horses,  equipages,  hounds,  and  huntsmen  scouring 
the  plain,  and  disappearing  in  the  woods,  to  the 
sound  of  trumpets.  At  night  in  his  often-interrupt- 
ed slumbers,  he  would  sit  up  to  listen  to  the  tumult 
of  the  ball;  it  was  he  who  had  paid  the  fiddlers.  For 
the  rest  he  was  in  want  of  nothing.  His  table  was 
abundantly  served.  Once  a  week  the  marquis  sent 
to  inquire  after  him;  and  when  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
met  him  on  his  walks,  she  saluted  him  with  a  charm- 
ing, friendly  gesture. 

At  the  end  of  a  year,  there  was  no  more  question 
of  Stamply  than  if  he  did  not  exist,  than  if  he  never 

87 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

had  existed.  To  the  commotion  which  had  centred 
round  him  for  a  moment,  had  succeeded  silence  and 
oblivion.  They  never  even  remembered  that  he  had 
once  possessed  this  mansion,  park,  and  property. 
After  receiving  him,  caressing  him,  petting  him  like 
a  faithful  hound,  society  ended  by  treating  him  as 
if  he  were  a  cur.  The  poor  old  fellow  did  not  even 
enjoy  the  consideration  that  had  been  the  dream  of 
his  life.  People  believed,  or  pretended  to  believe, 
that  in  recalling  the  La  Seiglieres  he  had  merely 
given  in  to  public  opinion. 

They  put  his  generous  act  down  to  compulsory 
probity,  too  tardy  to  be  reckoned  to  him  for  right- 
eousness. And  lastly,  his  former  farmers,  proud  to 
have  become  once  more  the  chattels  of  a  great  noble, 
revenged  themselves,  by  the  most  flagrant  contempt, 
for  ever  having  lived  under  the  fraternal  government 
of  a  peasant  such  as  themselves.  All  this  had  been 
accomplished  gradually,  without  cataclasm,  shock, 
or  even  calculation — the  natural  sequence  of  events 
in  this  world.  It  was  long  before  Stamply  himself 
realized  what  was  passing  round  him.  When  at  last 
his  eyes  were  opened,  and  he  saw  his  destiny  writ 
clear,  he  did  not  murmur;  an  angel  was  watching  at 
his  side,  who  gazed  upon  him  smiling. 

Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  had  been  endowed  by  the 
mother  she  never  knew,  and  by  the  poverty  in  the 
midst  of  which  she  was  brought  up,  with  a  self-con- 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

tained  character,  a  thoughtful  mind,  a  serious  spirit. 
By  a  contrast  common  enough  in  families,  she  had 
developed  in  the  opposite  direction  from  the  examples 
she  saw  before  her,  retaining  nothing  of  her  father, 
to  whom,  for  the  rest,  she  was  passionately  devoted, 
and  who  cherished  her  in  equal  measure;  only  there 
was  something  protective  and  adorably  maternal 
about  Helene's  love,  while  that  of  the  marquis  re- 
flected all  the  puerilities  of  childhood.  Educated  in 
solitude,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  was  but  a  serious  child 
herself.  Her  mother  had  transmitted  to  her,  with 
the  pure  blood  of  her  ancestors,  that  royal  beauty 
that  delights,  like  the  lily  and  the  swan,  in  castellated 
shades  and  solitary  parks.  Tall,  slender,  upright, 
and  somewhat  fragile,  she  had  the  willowy,  flexible 
grace  of  a  spike  of  blossoms  shaken  by  the  wind. 
Her  hair  was  like  golden  corn,  and  by  a  rare  fortune, 
her  eyes  shone  under  brown  lashes,  like  twin  ebony 
stars  upon  an  alabaster  complexion,  whose  expres- 
sion they  enhanced,  without  detracting  from  its  an- 
gelic placidity.  From  her  restrained  step,  her  sad 
and  gentle  expression — calm,  serene,  half-smiling — 
a  poet  might  have  taken  her  for  some  beautiful, 
dreaming  angel  entrusted  with  the  task  of  gathering 
up  the  sighs  of  earth  and  bearing  them  to  heaven, 
or  for  one  of  the  pale  apparitions  that  glide  upon 
the  banks  of  lakes  in  the  silvery  mists  of  evening. 
Knowing  nothing  of  life  or  of  society,  other  than 

89 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

what  her  father  had  imparted  to  her,  she  had  assisted 
without  pleasure  in  the  sudden  change  that  had  come 
into  her  existence.  Home  for  her  was  the  corner 
of  the  world  in  which  she  had  been  born,  where  her 
mother  had  died.  France,  which  she  knew  only 
from  the  misfortunes  of  her  family,  and  by  the  leg- 
ends of  the  emigration,  never  had  attracted  her;  nor 
did  opulence  please  her  imagination.  Far  from  im- 
bibing pride  and  consciousness  of  race,  like  Raoul, 
from  the  conversations  of  the  marquis,  she  had  early 
deduced  from  them  a  love  of  the  humble  condition 
in  which  destiny  had  set  her  birthplace.  Her  dreams 
and  ambitions  never  had  transcended  the  little  gar- 
den which  she  cultivated  herself;  never  had  the  Mar- 
quis de  la  Seigliere  succeeded  in  awakening  in  this 
young  breast  either  a  desire  or  a  regret.  She  smiled 
a  gentle  assent  to  all  he  said;  if  he  spoke  too  bitterly 
of  his  lost  wealth,  she  drew  him  out  into  her  garden, 
showed  him  the  flowers  of  her  borders,  and  asked 
if  France  could  produce  any  that  were  fresher  and 
more  beautiful.  And  thus  on  the  day  of  their  depar- 
ture she  choked  down  her  tears,  since  for  her  exile 
had  begun  that  day.  When  she  set  foot  upon  the 
soil  of  France,  that  tormented  soil  that  she  had 
always  viewed  from  afar  like  some  stormy  sea, 
Helene  had  vainly  striven  against  a  feeling  of 
sadness  and  terror.  In  passing  beneath  the  hered- 
itary roof,  she  felt  an  oppression  of  her  heart,  and 

90 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

her  eyes  moistened  with  tears  that  were  not  tears 
of  joy. 

Once  these  first  impressions  dissipated,  however, 
Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  became  acclimatized  without 
difficulty  in  her  new  position.  There  are  some  cho- 
sen spirits  whom  fortune  never  surprises,  who,  as  they 
support  the  most  contrary  destinies  with  equal  ease, 
are  always,  without  taking  thought,  on  the  same 
high  level  of  prosperity.  While  she  kept  her  na- 
tive grace  and  simplicity,  this  young  and  beautiful 
creature,  framed  so  naturally  in  the  luxury  of  her 
ancestors,  herself  appeared  so  little  astonished  at 
finding  herself  there,  that  no  one,  observing  her, 
would  have  supposed  her  to  have  been  born  in  an- 
other cradle  or  brought  up  in  a  different  atmos- 
phere. She  continued  to  love  Raoul  as  before  with 
fraternal  tenderness,  not  suspecting  that  any  deeper 
or  more  exalted  sentiment  could  exist  than  that 
which  she  experienced  for  this  young  man.  She 
knew  nothing  of  love;  the  few  books  she  had  read 
tended  rather  to  lull  than  to  awaken  her  adolescent 
imagination.  The  personages  whom  her  father's 
tales  had  represented  to  her  in  all  ages  as  types  of 
distinction,  of  grace,  and  elegance,  all  resembled  M. 
de  Vaubert  more  or  less  closely,  while  he,  who  \vas 
an  absolute  cipher,  with  most  distinguished  man- 
ners, contradicted  in  no  particular  the  ideas  Helene 
had  formed  to  herself  of  a  husband.  They  had  played 

9* 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

on  the  same  threshold  and  grown  up  under  one  roof. 
Mme.  de  la  Seigliere  had  cradled  the  childhood  of 
Raoul;  Mme.  de  Vaubert  had  supplied  the  place  of 
mother  to  Helene.  They  were  both  beautiful,  both 
in  the  flower  of  their  years.  The  prospect  of  being 
one  day  united,  offered  nothing  that  could  distress 
them.  They  cared  for  each  other  with  that  moder- 
ate affection  that  is  common  enough  between  lovers 
betrothed  in  early  years,  before  they  have  reached 
the  age  of  love. 

Marriage  is  a  desirable  end  to  arrive  at,  but  it  is 
a  mistake  to  think  about  it  too  long  beforehand, 
under  penalty  of  lessening  the  amenities  of  the  way. 
A  stranger  to  all  the  acts  as  well  as  to  the  interests 
of  positive  life;  upright  in  heart,  but  having  only 
confused  notions,  false  or  incomplete,  about  every- 
thing; brought  up  from  her  earliest  years  in  the 
belief  that  her  family  had  been  dispossessed  by  one 
of  their  tenants;  Helene  thought  ingenuously  that 
Stamply  had  only  refunded  the  property  of  his  mas- 
ters. Yet,  while  she  was  unconscious  of  owing  any- 
thing to  his  generosity,  she  smiled  from  the  first  upon 
the  good  old  man,  who,  for  his  part,  never  tired  of 
considering  her  with  a  sentiment  of  respect  and  ado- 
ration, as  if  he  already  felt  that  of  all  the  affection 
surrounding  him,  that  of  this  lovely  girl  was  alone 
artless  and  sincere. 

In  effect,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  unconsciously  real- 
92 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ized  all  the  promises  made  by  Mme.  de  Vaubert; 
without  knowing  it,  she  discharged  all  the  debts  of 
the  marquis.  In  proportion  as  every  one  ehe  with- 
drew from  Stamply,  Helene  felt  more  and  more  at- 
tracted to  him.  Isolated  herself  in  the  midst  of  the 
noisy  crowd,  mysterious  sympathies  were  before  long 
established  between  these  two  souls,  one  of  whom 
was  repulsed  by,  while  the  other  repulsed,  the  world. 
The  amiable  girl  became,  as  it  were,  the  Antigone 
of  this  new  QEdipus,  the  Cordelia  of  the  new  King 
Lear.  She  enlivened  his  cares  and  peopled  his  iso- 
lation. She  was  like  a  pearl  at  the  bottom  of  his 
bitter  cup,  a  star  in  his  dark  night,  a  blossom  on  his 
withered  stalk.  The  strange  thing  was,  that  she,  who 
at  first  had  yielded  to  nothing  but  a  feeling  of  the 
purest  pity,  ended  by  rinding  with  this  old  companion 
more  food  for  heart  and  mind  than  she  had  ever  got 
from  the  sonorous  and  empty,  brilliant  and  frivo- 
lous society,  in  the  midst  of  which  her  days  were 
spent.  Strangely  enough,  indeed,  it  was  the  poor 
old  man  who  directed  her  first  impulses,  and  gave 
the  first  awakening  to  her  young  intelligence.  In 
the  morning  when  every  one  was  sleeping  in  the  cha- 
teau, at  night  when  the  torches  were  lit  for  some 
fete,  Helene  would  escape  with  him,  either  to  the 
park  or  out  into  the  open  fields.  During  the  long 
talks  they  held  together  Stamply  related  the  great 
things  that  had  been  done  by  the  republic  and  the 

93 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

empire.  Helene  listened  with  astonishment  and 
curiosity  to  his  artjess  tales,  so  unlike  any  she  had 
heard  before.  Sometimes  Stamply  would  show  her 
Bernard's  letters,  the  only  treasure  he  still  possessed. 
As  she  read  them,  Helene  would  quiver  like  a  young 
charger  awakened  by  the  bugles.  At  other  times 
he  would  speak  to  her  about  her  mother,  the  beauti- 
ful and  well-loved  marquise  whom  he  cherished  in 
his  memories.  His  language  was  simple;  Helene 
felt  her  eyes  grow  moist  as  she  listened.  Then  he 
spoke  of  Bernard,  for  they  always  came  back  to  the 
dear,  dead  son.  He  told  of  his  turbulent  boyhood, 
his  impetuous  and  heroic  death.  The  soul  of  the 
turtle-dove  is  attracted  by  the  lion-hearted;  Helene 
took  pleasure  in  all  these  conversations,  always 
speaking  herself  of  the  young  man  as  of  a  friend  who 
was  no  more. 

Thus  they  rambled  on,  talking  together;  and  it  is 
a  proof  of  the  amiable  and  excellent  disposition  of 
old  Stamply  that  in  these  frequent  talks  he  never 
permitted  himself  to  complain  of  the  ungrateful 
friends  who  had  deserted  him,  and  Helene  continued 
to  think  that  in  despoiling  himself  he  had  only  ac- 
complished an  act  strictly  due  to  conscience  and  prob- 
ity. Perhaps,  too,  it  was  sweet  to  him  to  feel  that 
he  was  loved  for  himself.  He  knew  now  that  Mile, 
de  la  Seigliere  was  destined  for  Raoul;  he  was  aware 
that  the  wishes  of  their  parents  had  bound  them  from 

94 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

infancy  to  each  other;  the  thread  that  had  guided 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  in  his  hand;  he  knew  all  and 
understood  all  at  last.  If  he  reproached  her  in  his 
secret  heart,  he  did  not  betray  this  feeling  to  his 
young  friend;  he  hid  from  her,  like  some  shameful 
sore,  the  afflicting  spectacle  of  human  ingratitude. 
If  Helene  was  distressed  at  the  retired  existence  he 
was  leading,  he  would  reply  with  an  air  of  melan- 
choly: "What  can  one  do?  Society  was  not  made 
for  old  Stamply,  nor  old  Stamply  for  society.  Since 
M.  le  Marquis  is  good  enough  to  let  me  live  in  my 
own  corner,  I  will  make  the  most  of  it.  I  have 
always  been  fond  of  solitude  and  silence;  M.  le  Mar- 
quis rightly  felt  that  one  can't  reform  at  my  age. 
Kind  girl,"  he  added,  "  your  presence  and  your 
gentle  smiles  are  treat  enough  for  me! "  Old  Stamp- 
ly had  never  dreamed  of  anything  so  lovely. 

Towards  the  end  he  wanted  to  pay  one  last  visit 
to  the  farm  where  his  father  had  died,  where  his  son 
had  been  born,  where  he  himself  had  left  his  happi- 
ness in  quitting  it.  Already  broken  by  illness,  long 
since  bent  with  sorrow,  he  went  there  alone,  leaning 
on  his  cornel  stick.  The  farm  was  deserted,  every 
one  was  working  in  the  fields.  After  going  into  the 
rustic  dwelling,  where  nothing  had  been  changed; 
after  recognising  the  oak  chest,  the  bed  that  shut 
into  a  cupboard  with  curtains  of  green  serge,  the 
image  of  the  Virgin  before  which  for  ten  years  he 

95 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

had  seen  his  wife  pray  every  night  and  morning; 
after  enjoying  the  good  smell  of  milk  in  the  pans, 
and  of  the  fresh  bread  piled  up  on  the  shelves,  he 
sat  down  in  the  court-yard  on  a  stone  bench.  It  was 
a  hot  summer's  evening.  In  the  distance  he  heard 
the  song  of  the  haymakers,  the  barking  of  dogs,  the 
lowing  of  the  cattle.  The  air  was  impregnated  with 
the  scent  of  hay.  In  front  of  Stamply,  on  the  mossy 
roof,  a  flock  of  pigeons  were  cooing,  and  strutting 
up  and  down.  "  My  poor  wife  was  right,"  sighed 
the  old  man  as  he  dragged  himself  away  from  this 
picture  of  bygone  happiness,  "  it  was  an  evil  day  on 
which  we  left  our  farm." 

Burdened  less  with  age  than  with  sorrow,  he  died 
two  years  after  the  return  of  the  marquis,  with  no 
one  besides  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  to  close  his  eyes. 
When  on  the  point  of  expiring,  he  turned  to  her 
and  gave  her  the  letters  from  his  son.  "  Take  them," 
said  he;  "it  is  all  they  have  left  me,  all  I  have  left 
to  give."  He  expired  without  regret,  happy  in  the 
thought  of  rejoining  his  wife  and  his  little  Bernard. 

His  death  made  no  blank  save  in  his  room  and  in 
the  heart  of  Helene.  At  the  chateau  it  was  dis- 
cussed for  three  days.  "That  poor  Stamply!"  said 
the  marquis;  "  when  all's  said,  he  was  a  worthy  man." 
"  Very  prosy,"  sighed  Mme.  de  Vaubert.  "  Very 
unmannerly,"  added  Raoul.  "  Very  excellent,"  mur- 
mured Helene.  That  was  all  his  funeral  oration. 

96 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Helena  alone  fulfilled  the  tribute  of  tears  that  had 
been  promised  to  his  tomb.  It  is,  however,  well  to 
add  that  the  end  of  the  "  old  rogue  "  excited  in  the 
neighbourhood  the  indignation  of  a  party  that  was 
then  beginning  to  dawn  on  the  political  horizon — 
as  they  elegantly  expressed  it.  Hypocritically  en- 
vious, essentially  less  liberal  than  was  indicated  by 
its  name,  this  party,  which  in  the  provinces  consisted 
of  chattering  and  mediocre  advocates,  of  consequen- 
tial and  arrogant  bourgeois,  made  a  hero  of  Stamply 
dead,  after  outraging  him  in  his  lifetime.  It  was  not 
that  they  cared  for  him  the  least  bit  in  the  world;  but 
they  detested  the  aristocracy.  They  set  him  on  a 
pedestal;  they  awarded  him  a  martyr's  palm,  without 
suspecting  to  what  degree  the  poor  man  had  really 
merited  it.  In  short,  they  roundly  accused  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  of  intrigue  and  the  marquis  of  ingratitude; 
and  thus,  for  once,  these  petty  passions  and  petty 
hatreds  fortuitously  encountered  truth  upon  their 
road,  perhaps  without  having  sought  her. 

The  date  fixed  for  the  marriage  of  Helene  and 
Raoul  was,  however,  drawing  near.  While  the  time 
was  still  too  far  off  to  suit  M.  de  Vaubert,  Mile,  de 
la  Seigliere  neither  wished  for  it  nor  dreaded  it;  she 
saw  its  approach  without  impatience,  but  also  with- 
out alarm.  Whatever  it  cost  her,  it  may  even  be 
affirmed  that  she  felt  less  sadness  than  pleasure  in 
the  prospect.  Her  conversations  with  Stamply,  the 

97 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

reading  of  Bernard's  letters,  which  she  had  found 
herself  conning  more  than  once  after  the  death  of 
her  old  friend,  had  indeed  led  her  to  vague  compari- 
sons that  were  not  exactly  to  the  advantage  of  the 
young  baron;  but  it  was  all  too  involved  in  her  mind 
for  her  to  form  any  definite  ideas  about  it.  More- 
over, she  was  too  loyal  even  to  think  it  could  be  pos- 
sible to  go  back  upon  an  engagement  that  had  been 
made,  a  promise  given.  As  the  betrothed  of  Raoul, 
from  the  first  moment  she  had  understood  the  sense 
and  bearing  of  the  words,  this  fair  girl  had  looked 
upon  herself  as  a  bride  before  God.  And  lastly,  the 
marriage  was  agreeable  to  the  marquis.  Raoul  con- 
cealed his  nullity  under  a  mask  of  grace  and  elegance; 
he  was  wanting  neither  in  the  attractions  of  his  age 
nor  in  the  chivalrous  qualities  of  his  race;  and,  for 
the  rest,  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  kept  a  sharp  look- 
out, never  failed  when  the  occasion  arose  to  lend  him 
the  wit  he  did  not  possess.  Everything  was  going 
on  admirably,  nothing  seemed  likely  to  disturb  the 
current  of  prosperity,  when  an  unexpected  event  up- 
set the  balance. 

They  were  celebrating  on  the  same  day  at  the 
chateau  the  birthday  of  the  king,  the  third  anniver- 
sary of  the  return  of  the  marquis  to  his  estates,  and 
the  betrothal  of  Raoul  and  Helene.  This  triple 
function  had  attracted  all  the  high  aristocracy  of  the 
town  and  neighbourhood.  At  nightfall  the  chateau 

98 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  park  were  illuminated,  fire-works  were  sent  off  on 
the  top  of  the  hill,  and  then  the  ball  was  opened  in 
the  salons,  while  the  village  people  danced  outside 
under  the  trees  to  the  sound  of  bagpipes.  Mme. 
de  Vaubert,  who  was  in  touch  with  the  goal  of  her 
ambitions,  did  not  dissimulate  the  satisfaction  she 
felt.  The  mere  presence  of  Mlle.^de  la  Seigliere 
sufficiently  justified  the  pride  and  happiness  that 
radiated  like  a  double  aureole  from  Raoul's  brow. 
As  to  the  marquis,  he  was  beside  himself  with  joy. 
Each  time  he  appeared  on  the  balcony  his  vassals 
made  the  air  ring  with  cries  of  "  Long  live  our 
master!  Long  live  our  seigneur! "  repeated  a 
thousand  times  with  an  enthusiasm  that  bubbled 
from  the  hearts  of  these  worthy  people  and  from 
the  cellars  of  the  chateau.  Stamply  had  been  dead 
some  months.  Who  thought  of  him?  No  one,  un- 
less it  was  Helene,  who  had  sincerely  loved  him,  and 
kept  him  in  pious  memory.  That  evening  Mile,  de 
la  Seigliere  was  distracted,  dreamy,  preoccupied. 
Why?  She  herself  could  not  have  told  you.  She 
loved  her  fiance,  at  least  she  believed  that  she  loved 
him.  She  had  grace  and  beauty,  love  and  youth, 
rank  and  fortune;  she  was  surrounded  by  kindly 
looks  and  encouraging  smiles;  life  seemed  to  promise 
her  nothing  but  caresses  and  enchantments.  Why 
was  her  young  heart  oppressed,  her  lovely  eyes  veiled 
with  melancholy?  Was  her  fine  and  responsive  or- 

99 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ganization,  her  delicate,  nervous  nature,  already 
thrilling,  like  flowers  at  the  approach  of  the  storm, 
before  some  presentiment  of  her  destiny? 

That  same  evening,  a  cavalier  of  whom  none  was 
thinking  rode  up  the  right  bank  of  the  Clain.  Ar- 
rived at  Poitiers  less  than  an  hour  before,  he  had  only 
taken  the  necessary  time  to  saddle  a  horse,  and  had 
started  off  at  the  gallop,  making  up  the  stream  of  the 
river.  The  night  was  dark,  without  moon  or  stars. 
At  the  turn  of  the  path,  as  the  Chateau  de  la  Sei- 
gliere came  in  view,  its  illuminated  fagade  standing 
out  in  shining  lines  upon  the  darkened  background 
of  the  sky,  he  pulled  his  horse  up  short  with  a  sud- 
den turn  of  the  bit.  At  that  moment  a  fiery  sheaf 
shot  up  from  the  horizon,  spread  out  into  the  clouds, 
and  burst  in  a  shower  of  gold  and  amethysts  and 
emeralds  upon  the  towers  and  belfries.  Like  a 
doubting  traveller  who  is  no  longer  certain  of  his 
road,  the  horseman  glanced  round  him  uneasily; 
then,  sure  of  not  being  deceived,  he  slackened  rein, 
and  pursued  his  way.  At  the  gate  of  the  park  he 
dismounted,  and  leaving  his  horse  at  the  entrance, 
went  in,  just  at  the  moment  when  the  crowd  of  rus- 
tics, in  a  paroxysm  of  love  and  enthusiasm,  were 
shouting  simultaneously  "  Vive  le  roil "  and  "  Vive 
le  marquis!"  All  the  windows  were  framed  with 
boughs  and  decorated  with  transparencies;  the  most 
remarkable,  the  chef  d'ceuvre  of  a  local  artist,  exhib- 

100 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ited  to  admiring  eyes  the  august  head  of  Louis 
XVIII,  which  two  allegorical  divinities  were  crown- 
ing with  olive-branches.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps 
the  band  of  a  regiment  garrisoned  at  Poitiers  played 
the  national  air  of  Vive  Henri  IV  with  the  full 
strength  of  its  lungs.  The  stranger,  doubting 
whether  he  were  awake,  observing  everything  and 
understanding  nothing,  impatient  to  know,  afraid  to 
ask,  plunged  into  the  fete  unnoticed.  After  wan- 
dering long,  like  a  shadow,  round  and  round  the 
groups,  as  he  went  by  one  of  the  tables  that  had  been 
set  up  in  the  alleys  he  overheard  certain  words  that 
arrested  his  attention.  He  sat  down  at  the  end  of 
the  wooden  bench,  not  far  from  two  country  patri- 
archs, who  were  grumbling  over  the  return  of  the 
La  Seiglieres  and  the  death  of  old  Stamply  while 
they  drank  up  the  wine  of  the  chateau.  The 
stranger  leaned  his  arms  on  the  table,  and  sat  for  a 
long  time,  his  head  hidden  in  his  hands. 

When  he  moved  away  the  park  was  deserted, 
the  chateau  silent,  the  last  of  the  little  lanterns  was 
burning  out,  and  the  cocks  were  crowing  for  day- 
break. 


101 


CHAPTER   V 

Two  days  later,  in  the  recess  of  an  open  window, 
near  a  pretty  table  of  old  Sevres  porcelain  laden 
with  glass  and  silver  plate  and  the  remains  of  a 
tempting  dejeuner,  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  in  morning 
dress,  reclining  rather  than  sitting  in  a  large,  cush- 
ioned, springy  arm-chair,  was  enjoying  that  state  of 
comfort  and  satisfaction  entailed  as  a  matter  of 
course  by  thriving  egoism,  robust  health,  secure  for- 
tune, a  happy  disposition,  and  a  good  digestion.  He 
had  awakened  in  good-humour,  and  had  never  felt 
more  at  ease.  Enveloped  in  a  silk  dressing-gown 
with  a  large  flowered  pattern,  newly  shaved,  his  eyes 
bright,  his  lips  still  red  and  smiling,  his  linen  spot- 
less, his  limbs  well-shaped  with  plump  calves,  his 
white  and  rounded  hand  half  hidden  by  a  Valen- 
ciennes cuff,  as  he  played  with  a  gold  snuff-box 
adorned  by  the  portrait  of  a  lady  who  was  not  the 
late  marquise — his  entire  person  exhaling  an  agree- 
able perfume  of  orris-root  and  poudre  a  la  marcchale 
— he  was  sitting  there,  thinking  of  nothing  in  par- 
ticular, drinking  in  the  green  fragrance  of  his  woods, 
where  autumn  was  beginning  to  rust  the  tree  tops, 

102 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  idly  watching  his  blanketed  horses  as  they  came 
back  from  exercise,  when  he  caught  sight  of  Mme. 
de  Vaubert  crossing  the  bridge  over  the  Clain,  in  the 
direction  of  the  chateau.  He  rose  and  stretched  him- 
self, examined  himself  from  head  to  foot,  flicked  off 
the  grains  of  snuff  that  had  fallen  on  his  frill  of 
English  point,  and  then,  leaning  over  the  balcony, 
watched  the  arrival  of  his  amiable  visitor.  Any  one 
who  was  at  all  observing  would  have  seen  in  Mme. 
de  Vaubert's  early  start,  no  less  than  in  her  manner, 
the  certain  indications  of  a  mind  distressed;  but  the 
marquis  noticed  nothing.  When  she  came  in  he 
kissed  her  hand  gallantly,  without  even  remarking 
the  alteration  of  her  features  and  the  pallor  of  her 
countenance. 

"  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  he  said  to  her,  "  you  be- 
come younger  and  more  charming  every  day.  At 
the  pace  you  are  going,  a  few  years  more  will  make 
you  twenty." 

"  Marquis,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert  curtly, 
"  that  is  not  what  I  have  come  for.  Let  us  talk  seri- 
ously; the  matter  is  worth  it.  Marquis,  all  is  lost! 
All,  I  tell  you!  The  thunder-bolt  has  fallen  on  our 
heads." 

"  The  thunder-bolt?  "  cried  the  marquis,  pointing 
to  the  sky  which  shone  with  the  purest,  brightest 
azure. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "if  you  im- 
6— Vol.  7  I03 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

agine  a  thunder-clap  bursting  from  this  cloudless  sky, 
to  grind  your  chateau  to  powder,  to  burn  your  farms, 
to  consume  your  harvest  as  it  stands,  you  would  not 
suppose  anything  more  improbable  than  the  blow 
that  has  fallen  upon  you.  After  escaping  from  the 
tempest,  you  are  threatened  with  shipwreck  in  port." 

M.  de  la  Seigliere  turned  pale.  When  they  were 
seated  opposite  each  other: 

"  Do  you  believe  in  ghosts?  "  asked  the  baronne 
coldly. 

"  Eh,  madame?  "  returned  the  marquis. 

"  Because,  if  you  do  not  believe  in  them,  you 
ought  to,"  continued  Mme.  de  Vaubert.  "  Young 
Stamply,  the  Bernard  whom  his  father  flung  at  our 
ears  so  often,  the  hero  dead  and  buried  six  years  ago 
under  the  frosts  of  Russia " 

"  Well? "  asked  M.  de  la  Seigliere. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  baronne,  "  he  was  seen 
yesterday.in  the  neighbourhood;  he  was  seen  in  flesh 
and  blood,  he  was  really  seen  and  spoken  to,  and  it 
is  he.  It  is  Bernard — Bernard  Stamply — the  son 
of  your  old  farmer;  he  exists  and  lives;  the  fellow  is 
not  dead." 

"  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  me?  "  said  the 
marquis  airily,  with  the  surprised  and  pleased  ex- 
pression of  the  man  who,  expecting  to  receive  a  me- 
teorite upon  his  head,  finds  instead  that  a  feather 
from  a  tomtit's  wing  has  lighted  on  his  nose. 

104 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"How!  What  has  it  to  do  with  you?"  cried 
Mme.  de  Vaubert.  "  Young  Stamply  is  not  dead, 
he  has  returned  to  the  country,  he  has  been  identi^ 
fied;  and  you  ask  me  how  it  affects  you!" 

"  Why,  certainly/'  returned  M.  de  la  Seigliere  in 
artless  astonishment.  "  If  this  boy  has  any  reason  to 
like  his  life,  so  much  the  better  for  him  that  he  is  not 
dead  and  buried.  I  must  see  him.  Why  has  he  not 
already  presented  himself?  " 

"  Be  calm,"  said  the  baronne.    "  He  will  come." 

"  Let  him  come,"  cried  the  marquis.  "  We  will 
receive  him;  we  will  see  to  his  needs;  if  necessary,  we 
will  give  him  a  start.  I  have  not  forgotten  the  deli- 
cacy of  his  father's  proceedings.  Old  Stamply  did 
his  duty;  I  will  now  do  mine.  It  is  only  just  that  the 
fellow  should  profit  by  the  fortune  his  father  has  left 
me.  I  am  not  ungrateful;  it  shall  never  be  said  that 
a  La  Seigliere  left  the  son  of  a  faithful  servant  in 
want.  Let  Bernard  be  brought  here;  if  he  hesitates, 
they  can  reassure  him;  he  shall  have  whatever  he 
asks." 

"  And  if  he  asks  for  all?  "  said  the  baronne. 

At  these  words  the  marquis  shuddered,  and 
turned  to  her  with  a  horror-struck  expression. 

"  Have  you  read  a  book  called  the  Code?  "  asked 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  tranquilly. 

"  Never,"  replied  the  marquis  with  hauteur. 

"  I  have  been  reading  it  this  morning  for  your 
105 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

benefit.  Till  yesterday  I  knew  no  more  about  it  than 
you;  for  your  sake,  I  turned  myself  into  a  lawyer's 
clerk.  It  is  dry  enough  in  style,  a  book  much  ap- 
preciated when  it  makes  good  our  rights,  but  little 
favoured  when  it  contradicts  our  pretensions.  I 
doubt,  for  instance,  whether  you  would  much  relish 
the  chapter  that  deals  with  donations  between  living 
parties.  Read  it,  however;  I  recommend  it  to  you  for 
study." 

"  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  exclaimed  the  marquis,  ris- 
ing with  a  little  movement  of  impatience,  "  will  you 
tell  me  the  meaning  of  all  this?  " 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  get- 
ting up  too  with  the  gravity  of  a  doctor,  "  it  means 
that  all  free  donations  are  entirely  revoked  upon  the 
appearance  of  any  legitimate,  even  if  posthumous, 
child  of  the  donor.  This  means  that  Jean  Stamply,  in 
the  lifetime  of  his  son,  could  only  have  disposed  of 
half  his  goods  in  your  favour;  and  that,  having  only 
disposed  of  the  entirety  in  the  supposition  that  his 
son  was  dead,  his  dispositions  are  now  worthless.  Fi- 
nally, it  means  that  you  are  no  longer  at  home  here, 
that  Bernard  is  going  to  summon  you  to  restore  the 
title  to  him,  and  that  on  the  earliest  possible  day, 
armed  with  full  legal  powers,  this  boy,  to  whom  you 
propose  to  give  a  start,  will  summon  you  to  pack  off, 
and  will  show  you  politely  to  the  door.  Now  do  you 
understand?  " 

106 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

M.  de  la  Seigliere  was  overwhelmed,  but  such 
was  his  delightful  ignorance  of  the  facts  of  life  that 
he  quickly  passed  from  astonishment  and  stupor  to 
exasperation  and  revolt. 

"  What  do  I  care  for  your  Code,  and  your  dona- 
tions between  living  parties?  "  he  cried  with  the  rage 
of  a  naughty  child.  "  Do  you  expect  me  to  under- 
stand anything  about  that?  Does  that  matter  to 
me?  All  I  know  is  that  I  am  at  home  here.  Why  do 
you  go  on  talking  about  donations?  They  gave  up 
what  they  stole  from  me,  they  gave  back  the  proper- 
ty they  took  from  me,  and  that  is  called  a  donation! 
A  pretty  word!  A  La  Seigliere  accepting  a  dona- 
tion! A  nice  thing  to  say!  As  though  the  La  Sei- 
glieres  had  ever  accepted  anything  save  from  the  hand 
of  God!  What,  ventre-saint-gris!  I  am  in  my  home, 
happy  and  peaceable,  and  because  a  rascal  who  was 
believed  to  be  dead  turns  out  to  be  alive,  I  am  to 
count  out  to  him  the  fortune  that  was  stolen  from 
me  by  his  blessed  father!  And  the  Code  says  this  is 
to  be!  But  it  must  have  been  drawn  up  by  canni- 
bals, your  Code,  which  calls  itself  civil;  indeed,  the 
impertinence!  A  usurper's  code — one  which  conse- 
crates rapine  and  robbery  from  father  to  son!  In  a 
word,  the  Code  Napoleon!  I  recognise  M.  de  Bona- 
parte in  that.  He  thought  of  his  own  cubs;  a  good 
father  and  a  far-sighted  wolf." 

He  talked  for  a  long  time  in  this  strain,  in 
107 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

broken,  disconnected  sentences,  saying  whatever 
came  into  his  head,  walking  with  great  strides, 
stamping  on  the  parquet,  draping  himself  in  a  tragi- 
comical fashion  in  the  skirts  of  his  dressing-gown, 
repeating  every  moment  in  a  voice  stifled  by  anger: 
"A  donation!  a  donation!"  Mme.  de  Vaubert  had 
great  difficulty  in  calming  him,  in  making  him  under- 
stand what  had  happened  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
century  before,  and  what  was  happening  now.  Hith- 
erto she  had  respected  his  illusions;  but  the  gravity 
of  the  present  situation  admitted  of  no  compromises. 
She  brutally  tore  off  the  bandage  that  veiled  his 
eyes;  and  it  was  in  vain  that  the  poor  marquis  stiff- 
ened and  struggled,  and  shut  his  eyes  with  a  gesture 
of  pain,  like  the  blind  man  suddenly  restored  to  sight. 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  mastered  him,  and  by  forcing  him 
to  look  at  the  sun  of  evidence,  she  flooded  him  on 
all  sides  with  a  pitiless  illumination.  If  you  could 
have  seen  the  bewilderment  of  M.  de  la  Seigliere 
when  he  listened  to  the  impartial  resume  of  the  his- 
tory of  these  latter  days,  you  would  have  said  that 
after  going  to  sleep  on  the  banks  of  the  Clain  he 
had  waked  up  in  China,  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of 
bronzes,  himself  disguised  as  a  mandarin.  When  the 
facts  had  been  established,  and  the  past  clearly  out- 
lined, "  Now,"  said  the  baronne  firmly,  "  it  is  time  to 
settle  the  question  of  the  future.  The  case  is  peril- 
ous enough;  but  there  is  no  slough  so  deep  that  one 

108 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

cannot  get  out  of  it  with  a  little  skill  and  much  pres- 
ence of  mind.  See,  marquis,  there  is  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  Bernard  intends  to  present  himself  at  any 
moment;  not  to  ask  a  favour,  as  you  hoped  at  first, 
but  as  the  master,  with  his  head  in  the  air,  and  with 
no  mistake  about  what  he  has  to  say.  There  is  no 
lack  of  people  who  will  have  informed  him  of  his 
rights,  and  who  will  give  him,  at  need,  the  means  of 
obtaining  them.  Suppose  he  arrives  here;  how  are 
you  going  to  receive  him?  " 

"  Let  him  go  to  the  devil!  "  exclaimed  the  mar- 
quis, bursting  out  like  the  bomb  that  is  thought  to 
have  exploded. 

"  But  if  he  should  appear  on  the  scene?  " 

"  If  he  dared,  Mme.  la  Baronne,  I  should  recol- 
lect that  he  is  no  gentleman,  and,  more  happy  than 
Louis  XIV,  I  shall  not  have  to  throw  my  cane  out  of 
the  window." 

"  You  are  mad,  marquis." 

"  If  we  have  to  go  to  law  about  the  matter,  well, 
we  will  have  the  best  of  him." 

"  Marquis,  you  are  childish." 

"  I  shall  have  the  king  on  my  side." 

"  The  law  will  be  on  his." 

"  I  will  consume  my  last  field  sooner  than  leave 
him  one  blade  of  grass." 

"  Marquis,  you  cannot  go  to  law.  The  law 
courts!  What  are  you  thinking  of?  To  mix  up  your 

too 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

name  in  those  scandalous  debates!  to  compromise 
yourself  with  justice!  and  all  for  the  sake  of  arriving 
at  conclusions  that  are  foregone,  infallible,  inevi- 
table! We  have  enemies,  you  must  not  give  them 
this  satisfaction.  You  have  a  shield;  you  must  not 
do  it  this  wrong." 

"  But  in  Heaven's  name,  Mme.  la  Baronne,  what 
is  to  be  done?  What  are  we  to  decide?  What  is 
to  become  of  us?  What  part  are  we  to  play?  "  cried 
the  marquis  in  desperation. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert  firm- 
ly. "  Do  you  know  the  story  of  the  snail  that  ven- 
tured rashly  into  a  hive?  The  bees  walled  it  up  in 
honey  and  wax;  then  after  they  had  imprisoned  it 
thus  in  its  shell,  they  rolled  away  their  unwelcome 
guest,  and  pushed  it  out  of  the  hive.  Marquis,  this 
is  what  we  ought  to  do.  This  Bernard  is  no  doubt 
a  clown  like  his  father;  to  the  graces  of  his  origin  he 
is  sure  to  add  the  brutality  of  the  soldier  and  the  arro- 
gance of  the  young  blood.  Let  us  seduce  him  with 
wax  and  honey;  let  us  ensnare  him  from  head  to  foot. 
If  you  irritate  him,  all  will  be  lost.  We  must  manage 
him;  let  him  come.  He  will  arrive  like  a  cannon- 
ball  that  expects  to  rebound  against  a  wall  of  granite 
or  iron;  let  him  bury  himself  and  be  deadened  in  a 
ball  of  cotton-wool.  Do  not  run  counter  to  him; 
above  all,  avoid  discussing  your  rights  or  his.  Be- 
ware of  your  hot  blood;  you  are  very  youthful  still! 

no 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Instead  of  contradicting  him,  flatter  his  opinions;  if 
necessary,  humble  your  victory  before  his  defeat. 
The  essential  thing  at  first  is  to  bring  him  gradually 
to  establish  himself  as  a  guest  in  this  chateau.  When 
that  is  accomplished,  you  will  have  gained  time;  time 
and  I  will  do  the  rest." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Mme.  la  Baronne,  and  a  pretty 
part  it  is  for  us  to  play!  "  said  the  old  gentleman 
proudly. 

"  A  grand  part,  sir,  a  grand  part ! "  replied  the 
baronne  even  more  proudly.  "  We  are  going  to  fight 
for  our  principles,  for  our  altars,  and  for  our  hearths; 
we  are  going  to  struggle  for  right  against  usurpa- 
tion; we  are  going  to  defend  legitimacy  against  the 
exactions  of  an  odious  and  tyrannical  legality;  we  are 
going  to  defend  our  last  bulwarks  from  the  invasion 
of  a  debased  and  jealous  bourgeoisie,  that  hates  us  and 
desires  our  ruin.  If  we  lived  in  the  good  old  days 
of  chivalry,  I  would  tell  you  to  mount  your  horse,  to 
enter  the  lists,  to  fight  in  the  tilt-yard — or  else,  shut 
up  in  our  castle  as  if  we  were  in  a  fortress,  you, 
we,  our  people,  and  our  vassals,  rather  than  come  out 
of  it  living  would  be  killed  on  the  ramparts.  Unfor- 
tunately, champions  have  long  since  been  replaced 
by  lawyers,  and  heralds-at-arms  by  sheriff's  officers. 
Seeing  that  we  live  in  a  time  when  more  than  ever 
the  court  of  justice  has  been  substituted  for  the 
field  of  honour,  the  subtleties  of  law  for  the  inspi- 

iii 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

rations  of  courage,  it  is  all  the  more  needful  that  the 
noblest  and  most  valiant  should  use  stratagem  in- 
stead of  sword,  their  wits  instead  of  the  lance.  For 
the  rest,  what  would  you  do?  There  is  no  question 
of  reducing  this  young  man  to  beggary.  You  will 
be  generous,  you  will  do  well  by  him;  but  in  all  con- 
science, what  can  a  poor  devil  who  has  just  spent  six 
years  in  the  snow,  want  with  a  property  worth  a  mil- 
lion to  lie  upon,  before  he  can  feel  himself  comfort- 
ably at  rest?  My  dear  marquis,  if  you  have  any  fur- 
ther scruples,  don't  let  my  advice  deter  you — all  con- 
scientious scruples  ought  to  be  respected.  Go  and 
find  M.  Bernard;  hand  him  over  your  property,  like 
a  ring  for  his  finger.  And,  since  you  are  about  it, 
why  not  join  your  parchments  and  armorial  bearings 
to  this  little  present?  This  morning  I  saw  Helene, 
beautiful,  radiant,  confident  of  her  future;  she  will 
learn  when  she  comes  home  that  she  is  ruined  out 
and  out,  and  that  only  the  humble  Castel  de  Vaubert 
is  left  to  her.  We  will  go  and  live  a  modest  existence 
there,  as  we  used  to  live  in  exile.  Instead  of  being 
united  in  opulence,  our  children  will  wed  in  poverty. 
We  shall  be  the  talk  of  the  country.  Later  on,  our 
grandsons  will  be  country  bumpkins,  and  we  will 
sell  our  grand-daughters  to  the  vanity  of  any  vulgar 
upstart.  There  is  nothing  alarming  in  the  prospect; 
let  alone  the  satisfaction  of  always  having  the  Cha- 
teau de  la  Seigliere  before  your  eyes,  with  M.  Ber- 

112 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

nard  hunting,  leading  a  gay  life,  and  having  a  fine 
time  on  your  estates." 

"  Baronne,"  exclaimed  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  "  you 
have  the  genius  of  a  Medici." 

"  Ungrateful  man,  I  have  the  genius  of  a  heart," 
replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  smiling.  "  What  do  I 
want?  What  do  I  ask?  The  happiness  of  those 
whom  I  love.  For  myself  I  have  no  ambition.  Do 
you  think  I  should  be  seriously  alarmed  myself  at  the 
idea  of  living  with  you  en  famille,  in  my  little  manor? 
Eh!  mon  Dieu!  I  have  long  been  used  to  poverty; 
my  Raoul  never  expected  any  fortune.  But  for  you 
and  your  beautiful  Helene,  and  the  children  who  will 
spring  from  this  delightful  union,  it  is  this,  marquis, 
that  frightens  me." 

They  had  got  to  this  point  in  their  discussion 
when  a  lackey  announced  that  a  stranger,  who  re- 
fused to  give  his  name,  was  asking  to  speak  with  M. 
le  Marquis. 

"  It  is  our  friend,"  said  the  baronne. 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  the  marquis. 

"  Now,  do  remember,"  added  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
hurriedly,  "  that  the  success  of  the  whole  affair  will 
depend  on  this  first  interview." 

The  parquet  of  the  corridor  resounded  with  a 
rapid  step,  firm  and  ringing,  and  the  next  moment 
the  person  who  had  just  been  announced  entered  in 
military  fashion,  booted  and  spurred,  his  hat  and 

"D 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigli£re 

riding-whip  in  his  hand.  While  bearing  obvious 
marks  of  fatigue  and  suffering,  he  was  a  man  who 
appeared  to  be  at  most  thirty  years  of  age.  His  un- 
covered forehead,  lined  already  by  precocious  wrin- 
kles, his  emaciated  cheeks,  his  eye  sunk  deep  in  its 
orbit,  his  thin,  pale  lips,  shaded  by  a  heavy  brown 
mustache,  his  open  and  determined  expression,  to- 
gether with  his  proud  and  ever  haughty  air,  made  up 
one  of  those  figures  that  are  reckoned  ugly  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world,  but  which  artists  are  generally 
weak  enough  to  consider  beautiful.  A  blue  coat, 
buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  showed  the  lines  of  his  tall, 
straight,  supple  figure.  As  soon  as  he  entered  the 
salon,  which  he  seemed  to  recognise,  his  expression 
softened,  and  he  was  evidently  affected.  But  having 
promptly  mastered  this  involuntary  emotion,  he 
bowed  slightly  when  a  few  steps  away  from  the  ba- 
ronne,  and  then  addressed  the  marquis: 

"  I  have  the  honour  of  speaking  to  M.  de  la  Sei- 
gliere?  "  he  asked  with  icy  politeness,  and  in  a  voice 
that  still  retained  its  habit  of  command. 

"  As  you  say,  sir.     May  I  ask  in  my  turn " 

"  In  a  moment,  sir,"  replied  the  young  man  cold- 
ly. "  If,  as  I  suppose,  madame,  I  have  also  the 
honour  of  addressing  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  I  beg  that 
you  will  stay — you  will  not  incommode  us  at  this 
interview." 

A  gleam  of  joy  shot  through  the  eyes  of  Mme.  de 
114 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Vaubert,  completely  reassured  as  to  the  issue  of  a 
battle  of  which  she  had  arranged  the  plan,  and  which 
she  would  now  be  able  to  direct.  On  his  side,  M.  de 
la  Seigliere  breathed  more  freely,  since  he  felt  that 
he  was  going  to  manoeuvre  under  the  orders  of  this 
great  captain. 

"  Pray  be  seated,  sir,"  he  said,  sitting  down  him- 
self opposite  the  baronne. 

The  young  man  took  the  chair  indicated  by  the 
marquis,  and  sat  down  cavalierly  enough;  then  there 
fell  between  these  three  persons  a  moment  of  the 
solemn  silence  that  precedes  a  decisive  engagement, 
when  two  armies  are  drawn  up  opposite  each  other. 
The  marquis  opened  his  gold  box,  plunged  in  his 
thumb  and  ringer,  and  filled  his  nostrils  with  a  pinch 
of  Spanish  snuff,  slowly,  in  small  quantities,  with  a 
peculiar  grace  that  is  entirely  lost  in  our  generation. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  am  all  attention." 

After  reflecting  for  a  few  seconds,  the  stranger 
leaned  his  elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  in  which  he 
was  sitting  beside  the  old  gentleman. 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  he  said,  raising  his  voice  with 
an  air  of  authority,  "  it  is  nearly  thirty  years  since  we 
thought  great  things  were  about  to  happen.  France 
was  all  expectation.  A  new  aurora  was  dawning 
white  upon  the  horizon.  A  new  world  was  about  to 
make  its  appearance.  Vague  rumours  in  the  air 
filled  every  heart  with  joy  or  terror,  with  hope  or 

"5 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

stupor.  It  would  seem,  sir,  that  you  were  not  of 
the  number  of  those  who  then  hoped  and  rejoiced, 
for  you  were  one  of  the  first  to  abandon  your 
threatened  country  and  fly  to  a  foreign  land.  Your 
country  called  you  back,  as  was  her  duty;  you  were 
deaf  to  her  appeal,  as  no  doubt  suited  your  good 
pleasure;  she  confiscated  your  estates,  as  was  her 
right." 

At  these  words,  the  marquis,  already  forgetting 
the  role  he  had  tacitly  accepted,  bounded  up  in  his 
chair  like  a  wounded  chamois.  A  look  from  Mme. 
de  Vaubert  restrained  him. 

"  These  estates,  which  had  become  the  property 
of  the  nation,  its  legal  and  legitimate  property,  were 
bought  by  one  of  your  farmers  at  the  price  of  his 
sweat;  and  when  he  had  worked  hard,  when  at  the 
end  of  twenty-five  years  of  labour  and  fatigue  he 
had,  as  it  were,  sewn  together  shred  by  shred  the  do- 
main of  your  ancestors — while  you,  with  your  arms 
crossed,  were  busy  over  there  doing  nothing,  except 
perhaps  making  vows  inimical  to  the  glory  and  great- 
ness of  France — he  divested  himself  of  it  like  a  cloak 
and  laid  it  over  your  shoulders." 

"  Ventre-saint-gris,  sir!  "  cried  the  marquis,  out  of 
his  senses. 

A  second  look  from  Mme.  de  Vaubert  pulled  him 
up  short,  and  nailed  him  dumb  to  his  seat. 

"  What  was  the  enchantment  which  led  this  man, 
116 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

who  owed  you  nothing,  and  loved  you  less,  to  be- 
have to  you  with  this  excessive  generosity,  affection, 
and  enthusiasm?  What  made  him  decide  to  give 
over  into  your  hands  this  consecrated  property  of 
labour,  the  only  property  God  recognises  and  blesses? 
Perhaps  you  can  inform  me.  What  I  can  tell  you 
myself  is  that  during  his  son's  life  this  man  did  not 
even  trouble  himself  to  think  whether  or  no  you  were 
alive.  The  fact  remains  that  he  died  without  pre- 
serving for  himself  even  a  corner  of  land  for  his  last 
sleep,  leaving  you  the  peaceful  possessor  of  a  fortune 
that  cost  you  nothing  more  than  the  trouble  of  open- 
ing your  hand  to  receive  it." 

The  marquis  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  ba- 
ronne  interrupted  him,  or  rather  stood  sponsor  for 
what  he  ought  to  say. 

"  Since  you  have  permitted  me  to  assist  at  this 
interview,  sir,"  she  said  in  her  softest  voice,  in  ac- 
cents of  exquisite  urbanity,  "  you  must  allow  me  to 
take  part  in  it.  I  will  not  attempt  any  criticism  of 
what  is  cruel  and  wounding  to  us  in  some  of  your 
expressions.  You  are  young;  if,  like  ourselves,  you 
had  seen  the  dawn  of  this  new  aurora  of  which  you 
speak,  you  would  know,  as  we  do,  that  it  was  an 
aurora  of  blood.  As  to  the  reproaches  you  address 
to  us  of  having  deserted  the  soil  of  France,  and  of 
remaining  deaf  to  our  country's  appeal,  we  may  be 
allowed  to  smile  at  this.  If  some  one  came  to  tell 

117 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

you  that  this  mansion  threatened  to  fall  down,  that 
this  floor  was  trembling  under  your  feet,  and  that 
this  ceiling,  ready  to  collapse,  was  creaking  and 
groaning  over  our  heads,  would  you  remain  quietly 
seated  in  that  arm-chair?  If  the  executioner,  with 
his  axe  behind  his  back,  was  calling  to  you  in  a 
wheedling  voice,  would  you  hasten  to  run  to  him? 
Let  be  with  these  childish  notions.  And  one  more 
word.  You  accuse  us  of  having  formed  in  exile 
vows  that  are  hostile  to  the  glory  and  the  greatness 
of  our  country.  That  is  a  mistake,  sir.  We  meet 
for  the  first  time;  we  do  not  know  who  you  are,  nor 
what  motive  brings  you  here;  but  we  can  feel  that 
you  are  inimical  to  us,  and  the  nobility  that  breathes 
from  your  person  compels  us  to  seek  your  esteem, 
if  we  cannot  have  your  sympathies.  Pray  believe 
that  among  the  ranks  of  the  emigration  (perhaps 
too  grossly  calumniated)  there  were  generous  hearts 
that  still  remained  French  upon  an  alien  soil.  In 
vain  our  country  cast  us  forth  from  her  bosom;  we 
carried  her  away  in  ours.  Ask  the  marquis  if  our 
prayers  did  not  follow  this  dear  and  ungrateful  coun- 
try in  all  her  campaigns  and  on  all  her  battlefields. 
Let  him  tell  you  if  there  was  a  single  triumph  that 
did  not  awaken  the  proudest  echoes  in  our  hearts. 
Rocroi  did  not  exclude  Austerlitz;  Bouvines  and 
Marengo  are  sisters.  The  flag  is  not  the  same,  but 
she  is  always  the  same  conquering  France." 

118 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"Excellent,  excellent!"  said  the  marquis,  open- 
ing his  snuff-box. 

And  as  he  carried  a  pinch  of  brown  powder  to  his 
nostrils,  "  Decidedly,"  thought  he,  "  the  devil  is  in 
this  baronne." 

"  And  now,"  continued  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "  this 
little  matter  being  set  right,  if  you  have  only  come 
here  to  remind  us  what  is  owing  to  the  memory  of 
the  best  of  men,  if  that  alone  is  the  object  of  your 
mission,  I  must  add,  sir,  that  while  it  is  undoubtedly 
a  noble  task,  you  have  given  yourself  useless  trouble, 
since  our  debts  are  paid  already.  If,  finally,  you  ask 
by  what  enchantment  M.  Stamply  decided  to  re- 
store these  estates  to  a  family  that  had  showered 
blessings  upon  his  family  from  time  immemorial,  I 
will  tell  you  that  he  only  obeyed  the  fine  instincts 
of  his  pious  soul.  You  affirm  that  during  the  life- 
time of  his  son  M.  Stamply  did  not  even  care  to 
know  if  this  family  still  existed;  I  think,  sir,  that 
you  are  outraging  his  memory.  If  his  son  were  to 
return  among  us " 

"  If  his  son  were  to  return  among  you !  "  cried  the 
stranger,  with  a  gesture  of  fierce  anger.  "  Suppose, 
then,  that  he  were  to  return ;  suppose  this  young  man 
had  not  been  killed,  as  has  been,  and  still  is,  believed; 
supposing  that,  left  for  dead  on  one  of  the  battle- 
fields, he  was  taken  up  alive  by  the  enemy's  army, 
and  dragged  from  steppe  to  steppe  to  the  far  re- 

"9 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglifcre 

gions  of  Siberia.  After  six  years  of  a  horrid  captiv- 
ity, on  an  icy  soil,  under  an  iron-bound  sky,  he  gets 
free  at  last,  and  comes  to  see  his  country  and  his 
aged  father,  who  no  longer  expects  him.  He  starts 
off,  crosses  those  desolate  plains  on  foot,  begging  his 
bread  gaily  enough  as  he  goes,  for  France  is  at  the 
end  of  his  journey,  and  already,  in  an  enchanted 
mirage,  he  seems  to  see  his  father's  roof  smoking  on 
the  distant  horizon.  He  arrives;  his  old  father  is 
dead,  his  inheritance  has  been  despoiled,  he  has  no 
longer  hearth  nor  home.  What  does  he  do?  He 
makes  inquiries,  and  soon  learns  that  advantage  had 
been  taken  of  his  absence  to  capture  the  affections 
of  a  poor,  credulous,  and  defenceless  old  man.  He 
learns  that,  after  inducing  him  by  a  variety  of  subter- 
fuges to  give  up  his  possessions,  his  benefits  were 
repaid  by  the  blackest  ingratitude;  he  learns,  in 
short,  that  his  father  has  died,  more  lonely,  more  sad, 
more  desolate  than  he  had  lived.  What  will  he  do 
next?  We  are  still  supposing.  He  will  go  and  find 
out  the  authors  of  these  base  machinations  and  cow- 
ardly manoeuvres;  he  will  say  to  them:  '  Here  am  I; 
I  whom  you  believed  to  be  dead;  I,  the  son  of  the 
man  whom  you  have  misused,  despoiled,  betrayed, 
and  left  to  die  of  ennui  and  of  sorrow.  Here  am  I, 
Bernard  Stamply!'  What  would  they  have  to  say 
for  themselves?  I  ask  you,  M.  le  Marquis;  I  ask  you, 
Mme.  la  Baronne." 

120 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  What  would  they  say?  "  cried  M.  de  la  Seigliere, 
who  had  counted  on  himself  too  much,  or  too  little, 
when  he  accepted  the  part  delegated  to  him  by  Mme. 
de  Vaubert,  and  now  felt  all  his  patrician  blood 
mounting  to  his  face.  "  You  ask  what  they  would 
say?  "  he  added  in  a  voice  strangled  by  pride  and 
rage. 

"  What  could  be  simpler,  sir? "  said  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  with  charming  naivete.  "  They  would  say 
to  him:  *  Is  it  you,  young  friend,  whom  we  have 
loved  without  knowing,  whom  we  have  mourned  as 
though  you  had  been  known?  Thank  God  for  giving 
us  back  the  son,  to  console  us  for  the  loss  of  the 
father!  Come  and  live  in  our  midst;  come  and  re- 
cuperate under  our  tender  care  from  the  sufferings 
of  your  captivity;  come  and  take  up  in  our  family 
life  the  place  that  your  father  occupied,  for  too  short 
a  time,  alas!  In  short,  come  and  see  for  yourself  how 
we  forget  our  benefactors.  We  will  combine  our 
rights,  we  will  form  one  family;  and  calumny,  seeing 
the  union  of  our  souls,  will  be  reduced  to  silence,  and 
will  respect  our  happiness.'  That,  sir,  is  what  the 
authors  of  these  base  manoeuvres  and  cowardly  trea- 
sons would  reply.  But,  sir,  tell  me,  speak,"  added 
Mme.  de  Vaubert,  with  emotion,  "  can  you  not  un- 
derstand that  in  thinking  to  alarm  us  you  have 
almost  awakened  our  hopes?  This  young  friend 

whom  we  have  wept " 

121 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Is  living,"  replied  the  stranger;  "  and  I  hope 
for  your  sake  that  this  young  friend  may  not  cost 
you  more  tears  living  than  were  shed  for  the  report 
of  his  death." 

"  Where  is  he?  What  is  he  doing?  What  is  he 
waiting  for?  Why  does  he  not  come  here?  "  asked 
the  baronne,  in  a  rapid  volley  of  questions. 

"  He  is  before  you,"  replied  Bernard  simply. 

"  You,  sir,  you !  "  cried  Mme.  de  Vaubert  with  an 
explosion  of  joy  and  surprise  that  could  not  have 
been  more  plausible  had  Raoul's  resurrection  been 
in  question.  "  And,  indeed,"  she  added,  gazing  at 
him  with  emotion,  "  he  has  all  his  father's  features; 
above  all,  his  frank,  loyal,  open  expression.  Mar- 
quis, look;  he  is  undoubtedly  the  son  of  our  old 
friend." 

"  Sir,"  said  M.  de  la  Seigliere  in  his  turn,  fasci- 
nated by  the  baronne's  eye  no  less  than  by  the  abyss 
that  yawned  under  his  feet,  but  too  proud  still,  and 
too  much  the  gentleman,  to  feign  transports  that  he 
was  far  from  feeling,  "  when,  after  twenty-five  years 
of  exile,  I  re-entered  the  demesne  of  my  ancestors, 
your  father,  who  was  a  worthy  man,  received  me  at 
the  gate  of  the  park,  and  made  this  simple  speech: 
'  M.  le  Marquis,  you  are  at  home  here.'  I  will  not  say 
more  than  that.  You  are  at  home  here,  M.  Bernard. 
Be  good  enough,  therefore,  to  look  on  this  house  as 
your  own;  I  cannot,  and  will  not  allow  you  to  live 

122 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

elsewhere.  You  have  come  with  hostile  intentions. 
I  do  not  despair  of  bringing  you  back  to  better 
feelings.  Let  us  begin  by  making  acquaint- 
ance; perhaps  we  shall  end  by  making  friends.  It 
will  be  easy  to  me;  if  you  cannot  succeed  as  well, 
it  will  never  be  too  late  to  make  some  arrange- 
ment, and  you  will  always  find  me  inclined  to  ac- 
commodate you  in  whatever  way  suits  your  con- 
venience." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Bernard  haughtily,  "  I  want 
neither  your  acquaintance  nor  your  friendship.  Be- 
tween you  and  me  there  is  nothing  in  common — • 
nothing  in  common  could  exist.  We  do  not  serve 
the  same  God,  we  do  not  worship  at  the  same  altar. 
You  hate  what  I  adore,  I  adore  what  you  hate.  I 
hate  your  party,  your  caste,  your  opinions.  I  hate 
you,  personally.  We  should  sleep  badly  under  the 
same  roof.  You  say  that  you  will  always  be  ready  to 
make  any  arrangement  that  suits  my  convenience.  I 
want  none  of  your  favours;  do  not  expect  any  from 
me.  I  know  of  but  one  arrangement  possible  be- 
tween us:  it  is  that  provided  for  by  the  law.  You 
are  only  here  as  the  donee.  The  donor,  having  dis- 
posed of  his  goods  only  in  the  conviction  that  his  son 
was  dead  (as  proved  by  the  act  of  donation) — then, 
since  I  am  alive,  you  are  no  longer  at  home  here, 
and  I  am." 

"  That  is  the  question,"  hummed  M.  de  la  Sei- 
123 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

gliere,  summing  up  his  knowledge  of  Shakespeare  in 
these  words. 

"Ah!"  cried  Mme.  de  Vaubert  with  the  melan- 
choly of  disappointed  hopes,  "  you  are  not  Bernard, 
you  are  not  the  son  of  our  old  friend." 

"  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  replied  the  young  man  curt- 
ly, "  I  am  only  a  soldier.  My  youth  began  in  camp; 
it  ended  with  savages,  in  the  midst  of  arid  plains. 
Battle-fields  and  the  ice-bound  huts  of  the  north 
have  till  now  been  the  drawing-rooms  that  I  have  fre- 
quented. I  know  nothing  of  the  world;  two  days 
ago  I  did  not  even  suspect  its  frauds  and  perfidies. 
My  nature  is  to  believe  without  effort  in  honour, 
truth,  devotion,  loyalty — all  the  fine  and  elevated  in- 
stincts of  the  soul.  Well,  albeit  my  indignant  heart 
still  revolts  at  the  idea  that  trickery,  astuteness,  and 
duplicity  can  be  pushed  so  far,  madame,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve in  your  sincerity." 

"  Well,  well,  sir! "  exclaimed  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 
"  you  are  not  the  first  loyal  heart  that  has  yielded  to 
the  suggestions  of  the  evil-minded,  and  seen  its  sa- 
cred beliefs  withered  by  calumny;  but  surely,  before 
you  decide  on  hatred,  you  must  be  positive  that  you 
cannot,  and  ought  not  to,  love." 

"  See  here,  madame,"  said  Bernard,  to  put  an  end 
to  the  scene,  "  you  had  best  understand  that  the  more 
subtlety  you  employ,  the  less  you  will  convince  me. 
I  can  now  understand  how  my  poor  father  came  to 

124 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

be  taken  in  so  many  snares;  there  were  even  mo- 
ments in  which  you  frightened  me." 

"  I  am  highly  flattered,"  exclaimed  Mme.  de 
Vaubert,  laughing;  "  you  would  never  have  confessed 
so  much  of  the  enemy's  bullets  and  the  foreign  bayo- 
nets." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  added  the  marquis,  "  we  all  know 
that  you  are  a  hero." 

"  A  volunteer  at  eighteen,"  said  the  baronne. 

"  Lieutenant  of  hussars  at  nineteen,"  said  the 
marquis. 

"  Major  three  years  later." 
|      "  Distinguished  by  the  Emperor  at  Wagram." 

"  Decorated  by  the  hand  of  that  great  man  after 
the  affair  at  Volontina,"  cried  Mme.  de  Vaubert. 

"  Ah,  it  is  undeniable,"  added  the  marquis,  bury- 
ing his  hands  resolutely  into  his  breeches  pockets, 
"  one  must  admit  that  they  were  fine  fellows." 

"  Enough,  enough,"  said  Bernard,  in  momentary 
confusion.  "  M.  le  Marquis,  I  give  you  a  week  to 
evacuate  the  place.  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  your 
reputation  as  a  gentleman,  that  you  will  not  put  me 
under  the  painful  necessity  of  appealing  to  the  in- 
tervention of  justice." 

"  Well,  I'm  blessed  if  I  don't  like  this  boy!  "  cried 
the  marquis  frankly,  carried  away  in  spite  of  himself 
by  his  amiable  and  volatile  nature,  while  Mme.  de 
Vaubert,  seeing  he  was  on  the  right  track,  let  go 

125 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  helm,  and  let  him  plunge  about  as  he  liked. 
"  I'entrc-saint-gris,  the  boy  pleases  me!  Mme.  la 
Baronne,  I  protest  that  he  is  charming.  Young 
man,  you  will  stay  here.  We  will  hate  each  other, 
we  will  curse,  we  will  go  to  law,  we  will  make  the 
devil  of  a  row,  but,  vive  Dieu,  we  will  not  separate. 
You  know  the  story  of  the  two  hostile  frigates,  which 
met  in  mid-ocean?  One  had  no  powder,  so  the  other 
supplied  it;  and  after  two  hours'  reciprocal  cannon- 
ade, the  two  vessels  went  down  side  by  side.  We  will 
do  the  same.  You  have  arrived  from  Siberia;  I  pre- 
smue  that  when  the  Tartars  let  you  go  they  did  not 
load  you  with  rubles,  for  fear  of  delaying  your  steps 
and  prolonging  your  march.  You  want  powder;  I 
will  supply  you.  I  promise  you  an  agreeable  life. 
While  our  attorneys,  our  advocates,  and  our  lawyers 
are  firing  off  bombs  and  shells,  we  will  hunt  the  fox, 
we  will  live  a  jolly  life,  we  will  drink  the  wine  of  our 
cellars.  I  shall  be  your  guest,  you  will  be  mine. 
Since  no  well-conducted  suit  need  last  less  than  twen- 
ty years,  we  shall  have  leisure  to  make  acquaintance 
and  to  appreciate  each  other.  We  may  even  take  a 
mutual  liking,  and  on  the  day  that  our  chateau, 
park,  woods,  fields,  meadows,  farms,  and  metairies 
pass  from  us  to  defray  the  costs  of  justice,  on  that 
day — who  knows? — we  shall  perhaps  fall  into  each 
other's  arms." 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  returned  Bernard,  who  could 
126 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

not  help  smiling,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  take 
matters  with  a  light  heart;  do  you,  in  your  turn,  un- 
derstand that  I  take  them  more  seriously.  There  is 
no  corner  of  these  estates  that  my  father  has  not 
watered  with  his  sweat  and  with  his  tears;  it  is  not 
fitting  that  I  should  turn  them  into  the  theatre  of  a 
comedy." 

With  these  words,  after  bowing  frigidly,  he 
turned  to  the  door.  The  marquis  made  a  gesture 
of  resigned  despair,  and  Mme.  de  Vaubert  uttered  a 
cry  like  that  of  a  lioness  that  sees  her  prey  escaping 
her.  If  Bernard  had  been  carrying  off  the  La  Sei- 
gliere estates  in  his  pocket  these  two  faces  could  not 
have  expressed  greater  consternation.  One  more 
step  and  all  would  have  been  over.  Bernard  was 
opening  the  door  of  the  salon,  when  it  opened  of 
itself,  and  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  entered. 


7— Vol.  7  I27 


CHAPTER   VI 

MLLE.  DE  LA  SEIGLIERE  came  in,  simply  clad,  but 
royally  adorned  in  her  fair,  pale  beauty.  Her  hair, 
which  was  twisted  opulently  round  her  head,  framed 
her  face  in  plaits  and  tresses  of  gold,  while  her  com- 
plexion glowed  with  the  animation  of  her  walk  and 
the  hot  kisses  of  the  sun.  Her  black  eyes  shone  with 
that  gentle  flame,  the  effulgence  of  virginal  souls 
that  illuminates  while  it  does  not  burn.  A  blue 
sash,  with  floating  ends,  gathered  in  and  confined 
around  her  waist  the  thousand  folds  of  a  muslin 
gown,  in  which  her  elegant  and  flexible  body  was  en- 
veloped. A  pretty  green  shoe  set  off  the  aristocrat- 
ic arch  of  her  long  and  slender  foot.  A  bouquet  of 
field  flowers  decorated  the  front  of  her  girlish  bodice. 
After  carelessly  flinging  on  a  chair  her  Tuscan  hat, 
her  gray  silk  sunshade,  and  a  bunch  of  wild  roses  she 
had  gathered  on  the  hills,  she  ran,  in  graceful  haste, 
first  to  her  father,  whom  she  had  not  seen  that  day, 
and  then  to  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  embraced  her 
effusively.  It  was  not  for  some  moments,  until  she 
escaped  from  the  baronne's  arms,  that  Helene  ob- 
served the  presence  of  a  stranger.  Whether  from 

128 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

embarrassment,  or  curiosity,  or  because  his  soul  and 
senses  were  alike  surprised,  Bernard  had  remained 
standing  near  the  door,  at  the  apparition  of  this  love- 
ly creature;  he  waited  there,  motionless  and  upright, 
in  dumb  contemplation,  asking  himself,  no  doubt, 
since  when  gazelles  lived  amicably  with  foxes,  and 
turtle-doves  with  vultures.  A  glance  is  as  rapid  as 
lightning;  thought  is  quicker  still.  In  a  flash,  Mme. 
de  Vaubert  had  grasped  the  situation;  her  face 
brightened,  her  brow  grew  clear. 

"  You  do  not  recognise  this  gentleman?  "  asked 
the  marquis  of  his  daughter. 

After  examining  Bernard  with  a  glance  of  uneasy 
curiosity,  Helene  replied  with  a  negative  movement 
of  her  fair  head. 

"  And  yet  he  is  one  of  your  friends,"  added  the 
old  gentleman. 

At  a  sign  from  her  father,  half  troubled  and  half 
smiling,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  advanced  towards  Ber- 
nard. When  this  man,  who  till  now  had  seen  no 
revelation  of  grace  or  beauty,  and  whose  youth,  as 
he  said  himself,  had  been  spent  in  camps  under  sav- 
age conditions,  was  approached  by  the  beautiful, 
graceful  girl,  with  her  candid  forehead  and  smiling 
lips,  he  who  had  twenty  times  awaited  death  without 
flinching  felt  his  heart  give  way,  and  his  temples  grew 
moist  with  a  cold  sweat. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  in  an  altered  voice, 
129 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  you  see  me  for  the  first  time.  Nevertheless,  if  you 
knew  an  unfortunate  being  whose  name  was  Stamply 
during  his  earthly  life,  I  shall  not  be  altogether  a 
stranger  to  you,  for  you  have  known  my  father." 

At  these  words  Helene  looked  at  him  with  the 
wide  eyes  of  a  frightened  fawn;  then  she  glanced  al- 
ternately at  the  marquis  and  at  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 
who,  much  moved,  were  contemplating  the  scene. 

"  It  is  little  Bernard,"  said  the  marquis. 

"  Yes,  dear  child,"  added  the  baronne,  "  it  is  the 
son  of  our  good  M.  Stamply." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  at  last  with  emo- 
tion, "  my  father  did  well  to  ask  me  if  I  recognised 
you.  I  have  heard  of  you  so  often  that  it  seems  to 
me  now  that  I  really  ought  to  have  known  you. 
You  are  alive!  What  joy  for  us!  See,  it  makes  me 
tremble.  And  yet,  glad  as  I  am,  I  cannot  think 
without  sadness  of  your  father,  who  left  this  world 
in  the  hope  of  finding  you  again  in  the  next.  So 
heaven,  too,  has  its  griefs  and  its  deceptions!  Yes, 
my  father  was  right  to  say  that  you  are  one  of  my 
frienus.  You  will  be;  won't  you,  sir?  M.  Stamply 
loved  me,  and  I  loved  him  also.  He  was  my  old  com- 
panion. With  him  I  used  to  talk  about  you;  with 
you,  I  can  talk  about  him. — Father,  have  they  pre- 
pared M.  Bernard's  rooms? — For  you  are  in  your 
own  home  here." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  cried  the  marquis.  "  And  this 
130 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

maniac  would  rather  lodge  under  the  bridge  of  the 
Clain  than  live  with  us." 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  Helene  in  a  tone  of  gentle  re- 
proach, "  when  I  came  in,  you  were  on  the  point  of 
leaving;  you  were  departing,  flying  from  us.  Hap- 
pily that  is  quite  out  of  the  question." 

"Out  of  the  question!"  cried  the  marquis. 
"  Obviously  you  don't  know  where  he  has  come 
from.  As  you  see  him,  this  gentleman  has  arrived 
from  Siberia.  The  vicinity  of  the  Kalmucks  has 
made  him  critical  in  the  quality  of  his  social  inter- 
course and  the  choice  of  his  friendships.  One  can 
understand  that — we  will  not  be  too  hard  on  him. 
And,  moreover,  this  young  man  hates  us.  It  is  not 
his  fault.  Why  does  he  hate  us?  He  does  not  know; 
neither  do  I ;  but  he  hates  us.  The  feeling  is  stronger 
than  he.  One  cannot  master  one's  feelings." 

"  You  hate  us,  sir!  I  loved  your  father,  and  you 
hate  mine!  You  hate  me!  Me!  What  have  we  done 
to  you?  "  asked  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  in  a  voice  that 
would  have  softened  an  iron  heart  and  disarmed  the 
anger  of  a  Scythian.  "  Sir,  we  have  not  deserved 
your  hatred." 

"  What  does  that  matter,"  said  the  marquis,  "  if 
it  is  his  vogue  to  hate  us?  Nature  covers  all  manner 
of  tastes.  He  pretends  that  this  parquet  burns  his 
feet,  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  sleep  a  wink  under 
this  roof.  That  comes  of  sleeping  on  reindeer  skins 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  living  under  six  feet  of  snow.  Nothing  appeals 
to  you  any  more;  everything  seems  flat  and  disen- 
chanted." 

In  a  rapid  intuition,  Helene  thought  she  under- 
stood what  was  passing  in  the  heart  and  mind  of  the 
young  man.  She  divined  that  in  restoring  the  prop- 
erty of  his  masters,  Stamply  had  despoiled  his  son, 
and  that  the  latter,  victim  to  his  father's  probity,  re- 
fused out  of  pride  to  receive  the  price  of  it.  Accord- 
ingly, from  delicacy  as  much  as  from  duty,  she  re- 
doubled her  graceful  insistence,  even  throwing  off  her 
habitual  reserve,  to  make  Bernard  forget  whatever 
in  his  position  seemed  painful,  difficult,  and  perilous. 

"  Sir,"  she  resumed  in  a  tone  of  caressing  author- 
ity, "  you  must  not  go.  Since  you  refuse  to  be  our 
guest,  you  will  have  to  be  our  prisoner.  How  could 
you  imagine  for  a  moment  that  we  should  allow  you 
to  live  anywhere  except  with  us?  What  would  peo- 
ple think?  What  would  our  friends  say?  You 
could  not  so  distress  us,  at  the  same  time  insult  our 
reputation.  Think,  sir,  that  in  this  case  there  is 
neither  hospitality  to  offer  nor  hospitality  to  receive. 
We  owe  too  much  to  your  father,"  added  the  ami- 
able girl,  who  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it,  but  in 
the  belief  that  Bernard  was  hesitating  out  of  pride, 
desired  to  smooth  down  his  susceptibilities,  and 
make,  as  it  were,  a  golden  bridge  for  his  wounded 
feelings,  "  we  owe  too  much  to  your  father  for 

132 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

it  to  be  possible  that  you  could  owe  us  anything1. 
We  have  nothing  to  give  you;  we  can  but  offer  with 
one  hand  what  we  have  received  with  the  other. 
You  must  accept  it,  so  as  not  to  humiliate  us." 

"Accept  it?  He?"  cried  the  marquis;  "he  will 
take  uncommon  good  care  not  to.  Humiliate  us? 
That  is  just  what  he  wants  to  do!  You  don't  know 
him;  he  would  as  soon  cut  his  hand  off  as  put  it 
into  ours." 

The  young  girl  slipped  her  right  hand  out  of  her 
glove  and  offered  it  cordially  to  Bernard. 

"  Is  that  true,  sir?  "  she  asked  him. 

When  he  felt  this  fine,  warm,  satiny  skin  between 
his  own  fingers,  that  had  grown  brown  with  the  ex- 
ercise of  war  and  hard  in  the  labours  of  captivity, 
Bernard  turned  pale,  and  trembled.  His  eyes  be- 
came dim,  his  legs  gave  way  under  him.  He  tried 
to  speak;  his  voice  died  away  on  his  lips. 

"  You  hate  us?  "  said  Helene.  "  But  that  is  an 
additional  reason  for  staying.  It  is  most  important 
to  us  that  you  should  not  hate  us;  our  honour  and 
our  glory  are  involved.  You  must  first  allow  us  to 
try  and  teach  you  to  know  us.  When  we  have  suc- 
ceeded, sir,  you  may  go  if  you  feel  sufficiently  cour- 
ageous. But  from  now  till  then,  I  repeat  that  you 
are  in  our  power.  You  have  been  a  prisoner  in  Rus- 
sia for  six  years;  you  can  surely  be  our  captive  for  a 
little  time.  Is  the  perspective  of  being  loved  so  very 

133 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

alarming?  In  the  name  of  your  father,  who  some- 
times called  me  his  child,  you  must  stay;  I  wish  it, 
I  demand  it  from  you;  if  need  be,  I  pray  you,  stay." 

"  She  is  charming,"  cried  Mme.  de  Vaubert  with 
emotion,  adding  under  her  breath,  "  He  is  lost!" 

And  it  was  true.  Bernard  was  lost.  His  vacil- 
lations may  be  quickly  summed  up.  Gangrened  by 
misfortune,  justly  irritated  by  the  sharp  deceptions 
of  his  return,  exasperated  by  public  rumour,  burn- 
ing with  all  the  passions  and  political  ardour  of  the 
time,  hating  the  aristocrats  by  instinct,  impatient  to 
revenge  his  father,  he  presented  himself  at  the  Cha- 
teau de  la  Seigliere  with  a  hatred  based  upon  his 
rights,  his  heart  and  head  filled  with  storm  and  tem- 
pest, expecting  to  encounter  a  haughty  resistance; 
foreseeing  arrogant  pretensions,  insolent  prejudices, 
proud  disdain,  and  preparing  to  beat  it  all  down  by 
the  hurricane  of  his  anger. 

At  the  outset  his  efforts  missed  fire,  his  hatred 
aborted,  his  anger  miscarried.  The  tempest  that 
looked  for  oaks  that  it  could  blast  found  only  bend- 
ing reeds,  and  lost  itself  amid  a  jungle  of  grasses; 
the  thunder-bolt  that  should  leap  from  rock  to  rock, 
and  from  echo  to  echo,  died  away  noiselessly  in  the 
valley  and  awakened  only  gentle  melodies.  Bernard 
sought  his  enemies;  he  found  only  flatterers.  He 
attempted  to  fire  a  broadside  from  a  greater  distance; 
his  bullets  came  back  to  him  as  sugar-plums.  Esca- 

134 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ping,  however,  from  the  toils  of  the  wily  Armida,  he 
was  making  good  his  retreat,  after  signifying  his  in- 
exorable resolution,  when  another  enchantress,  who 
was  the  more  seductive  in  that  she  did  not  try  to  be- 
guile him,  made  her  appearance.  Irresistible  power, 
eternal  and  ever  victorious  charm,  divine  eloquence 
of  youth  and  beauty!  She  had  but  to  appear,  and 
Bernard  was  shaken.  She  smiled,  and  Bernard  was 
disarmed.  She  was  a  creature  whom  God  himself 
would  look  upon  and  love.  Candour  breathed  from 
her  forehead,  sincerity  from  her  mouth;  beneath  her 
limpid  gaze  her  expanded  soul  lay  like  some  beauti- 
ful flower  under  the  transparency  of  water.  No  un- 
truth had  ever  withered  those  lips,  no  guile  had  ever 
warped  the  rays  from  those  eyes.  She  spoke,  and 
without  knowing  it  the  angel  became  the  accomplice 
of  the  devil.  She  not  only  said  nothing  to  contra- 
dict, but  everything  to  confirm,  what  had  previously 
taken  place;  no  word  was  uttered  by  Helene  that  did 
not  bear  out  something  said  by  Mme.  de  Vaubert. 
Truth  has  convincing  accents  that  the  most  defiant 
cannot  refuse  to  recognise.  It  is  truth,  and  truth  in- 
deed, that  speaks  in  Helene's  voice;  and  yet,  if  He- 
lene is  sincere,  Mme.  de  Vaubert  in  turn  must  be 
sincere  also.  Bernard  hesitated.  If,  after  all,  these 
were  noble  hearts  defamed  by  calumny?  If  it  had 
pleased  his  father  to  buy  some  few  years  of  joy,  of 
peace  and  happiness,  at  the  price  of  all  his  fortune, 

135 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

should  Bernard  dare  to  complain  of  this?  Could  he 
dare  to  revoke  a  voluntary  and  spontaneous  gift  le- 
gitimized by  gratitude?  Could  he  pitilessly  hunt  out 
the  people  to  whom  his  father  owed  it  that  he  had 
been  able  to  live  surrounded  by  kindness  and  to  die 
in  friendly  arms? 

He  had  got  to  this  point  in  his  reflections,  though 
in  his  mind  they  were  less  clear,  less  definite  and 
precise,  than  we  have  stated  them,  when  Mme.  de 
Vaubert,  who  had  approached,  took  advantage  of  a 
moment  when  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  was  exchanging 
a  few  words  with  the  marquis,  to  say  to  him: 

"  Well,  sir,  you  now  know  all  the  authors  of  those 
cowardly  manoeuvres  which  you  were  denouncing  a 
little  while  ago.  Why  do  you  not  overwhelm  this 
child  as  well  with  your  scorn  and  anger?  You  can 
see  how  deeply  she  is  steeped  in  the  infamous  plot, 
and  how,  after  working  your  father's  ruin,  she  co- 
operated with  us  in  letting  him  die  of  sorrow." 

At  these  words  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  Bernard 
shuddered  as  though  he  had  felt  a  serpent  writhing 
round  his  legs,  but  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  came  back 
to  him  almost  at  the  same  moment,  and  said: 

"  Sir,  the  death  of  your  father  has  left  me  a  sacred 
duty  to  discharge  towards  you.  I  assisted  him  at  the 
supreme  moment ;  I  received  his  last  farewells,  I 
heard  his  parting  sigh.  It  is  a  sacred  deposit  that 
should,  as  it  were,  pass  from  my  heart  to  yours. 

136 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Come.  It  may  solace  you  to  speak  of  him  who  is 
no  more  within  those  alleys  that  he  loved,  and  which 
are  still  filled  with  his  memories." 

Saying  this,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  put  her  hand  on 
Bernard's  arm  and  led  him  away  Hike  a  child.  When 
they  had  gone,  the  marquis  flung  himself  into  a  chair, 
and,  freed  at  last  from  self-restraint,  gave  vent  to  the 
torrent  of  anger  and  resentment  that  had  been  sti- 
fling him  for  an  hour  past.  Two  adverse  sentiments 
were  battling  fiercely  within  him,  conquered  and 
conquering  alternately — egoism  and  pride  of  race. 
Egoism  was  decidedly  the  stronger;  but  it  could  not 
triumph  without  cries  of  a  trapped  badger  from 
routed  pride. 

In  Bernard's  presence,  egoism  had  got  the  upper 
hand;  Bernard  gone,  malignant  pride  rebounded  vio- 
lently from  its  rival's  grasp  and  bravely  maintained 
the  upper  hand.  There  was  a  fresh  scene  of  revolt 
and  anger,  all  inconceivably  puerile,  though  charm- 
ing; it  was  like  the  petulant  grace  of  a  runaway  colt, 
that  clears  hedges  and  barriers,  and  bounds  over  the 
green  pastures.  Mme.  de  Vaubert  had  to  make  fresh 
efforts  to  bridle  him,  bring  him  back  to  the  starting- 
point,  and  keep  him  on  the  real  course. 

"  Come,  marquis,"  she  said,  after  listening  to  him 
for  some  time  with  smiling  pity,  "  let  be  with  these 
childish  follies.  You  may  rebel  as  much  as  you  like, 
you  will  not  alter  the  facts  that  are  accomplished. 

137 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

What  is  done  is  done.    To  will  the  contrary  would 
be  to  rob  God  Almighty  of  his  power." 

"What!"  cried  the  marquis;  "a  fellow  whose 
father  cultivated  my  fields,  and  whose  mother 
brought  the  milk  of  her  cows  up  here  every  morn- 
ing, under  my  eyes,  for  ten  years,  is  to  come  and  in- 
sult me  in  my  own  house,  and  I  am  not  to  say  a 
word!  Not  only  must  I  forbear  to  have  him  flung 
out  of  the  door  by  my  lackeys,  but  I  am  to  lodge 
him,  to  entertain  him,  to  smile  on  him,  and  to  see  my 
daughter  hanging  on  his  arm!  A  ragamuffin  who 
would  have  deemed  himself  too  happy  thirty  years 
ago  to  groom  my  horses  and  take  them  down  to 
the  pond!  Did  you  hear  the  emphasis  with  which 
this  cowherd's  son  referred  to  the  sweat  of  his  father? 
When  they  have  said  that,  they  have  said  all.  The 
sweat  of  the  people!  The  sweat  of  their  fathers! 
Impertinent  fools!  As  if  their  fathers  had  invented 
sweat  and  labour!  Do  they  suppose  our  fathers  have 
not  sweated  also?  Do  they  suppose  one  sweated  less 
under  the  hauberk  than  under  the  smock?  It  makes 
me  furious,  Mme.  la  Baronne,  to  see  the  pretensions 
of  this  mob,  who  imagine  that  they  alone  have  to 
work  and  suffer,  while  the  great  families  have  only 
to  hold  out  their  hands  for  lands  and  chateaus  to 
drop  into  them.  What  do  you  think  of  this  hussar 
who  turns  up  to  claim  an  estate  worth  a  million,  on 
the  pretext  that  his  father  sweated  for  it?  And  these 

138 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

people  reproach  us  for  pride  and  ancestral  vanity! 
This  fellow  insolently  claims  the  price  of  his  fa- 
ther's sweat,  and  is  astonished  because  I  cling  to 
the  price  of  the  blood  shed  by  twenty  of  my  an- 
cestors." 

"  Eh,  mon  Dieu!  marquis,  you  are  right  a  hun- 
dred times  over,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert.  "  You 
have  right  on  your  side.  Who  can  deny  it,  or  con- 
test it?  Unluckily  this  hussar  has  the  law  on  his,  the 
petty,  tiresome,  galling — in  a  word,  the  bourgeois- — 
law.  I  repeat  once  more,  you  are  no  longer  at  home 
here,  and  this  fellow  is  at  home;  that  is  what  you 
have  got  to  try  and  understand." 

"  Well,  then,  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  cried  M.  de  la 
Seigliere,  "  if  this  is  so,  better  shame  than  ruin;  it  is 
better  to  abdicate  one's  fortune  than  one's  honour. 
Exile  has  no  terrors  for  me.  I  know  the  road,  I  will 
set  out;  I  will  expatriate  myself  for  the  last  time.  I 
shall  lose  my  property,  but  I  shall  keep  my  name  un- 
blemished. My  vengeance  is  prompt;  there  will  be 
no  La  Seiglieres  left  in  France." 

"  Well,  my  poor  marquis,  France  will  do  without 
you." 

"  Ventre-saint-gris!  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  cried  the 
marquis,  as  red  as  a  poppy,  "  do  you  know  what 
his  Majesty  King  Louis  XIV  said  one  day  at 
his  private  levee,  when  he  caught  sight  of  my 
great-great-grandfather  among  the  gentlemen  oi 

139 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

his  court?  '  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,'  said  King 
Louis,  tapping  him  affectionately  on  the  shoul- 
der  " 

"  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,  I  tell  you — I — that  you 
shall  not  go,"  cried  Mme.  de  Vaubert  firmly.  "  You 
shall  not  fail  in  all  you  owe  to  our  ancestors,  to  your 
daughter,  in  what  you  owe  to  yourself.  You  shall 
not  abandon  the  inheritance  of  your  fathers  like  a 
coward.  You  shall  stay,  precisely  because  your  hon- 
our is  involved  in  your  doing  so.  Besides  which,  no 
one  goes  into  exile  at  your  age.  It  was  all  very  well 
in  youth,  when  we  had  the  future,  and  a  long  hope 
before  us.  And  why  should  we  go?  "  she  added  val- 
iantly. "  Since  when  does  one  raise  the  siege  when 
the  place  is  on  the  point  of  capitulating.  Since  when 
does  one  sound  the  retreat  when  one  is  sure  of  vic- 
tory? Since  when  does  one  throw  up  the  game  when 
one  is  on  the  point  of  winning  it?  We  shall  conquer. 
Do  you  not  feel  it?  Only  let  Bernard  pass  the  night 
in  the  chateau,  and  to-morrow  I  will  answer  for  the 
rest." 

At  this  moment  the  baronne,  who  was  sitting  in 
the  recess  of  the  window,  caught  sight  of  her  son  in 
the  valley  of  the  Gain,  coming  in  the  direction  of  the 
park  gates.  Leaving  the  marquis  to  his  reflections, 
she  escaped  with  ttye  fleetness  of  a  doe,  intercepted 
Raoul  at  the  gate,  took  him  back  to  the  Castel  de 
Vaubert,  and  found  a  plausible  pretext  for  sending 

140 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

him  out  to  dine  and  spend  the  evening  at  a  neigh- 
bouring chateau. 

Meamtime  Helene  and  Bernard  were  walking 
slowly  along,  the  young  girl  hanging  on  the 
young  man's  arm — he  timid  and  trembling,  she  re- 
doubling her  graces  and  attractions.  Na'ive  grace, 
facile  seduction!  She  related  with  touching  sim- 
plicity the  history  of  the  last  two  years  of  old  Stam- 
ply's  life. 

She  told  how  they  had  come  by  degrees  to  know 
and  love  each  other;  she  spoke  of  their  walks,  their 
excursions,  their  mutual  confidences,  and  also  of  the 
place  Bernard  had  taken  in  their  intercourse.  Ber- 
nard listened  in  silence;  and  as  he  listened,  he  felt 
Helene's  light  and  supple  body  on  his  arm,  he  looked 
at  her  little  feet,  moving  in  step  with  his,  he  inhaled 
her  breath,  sweeter  than  the  scents  of  autumn,  he 
heard  the  rustle  of  her  gown,  more  gentle  than  the 
sound  of  wind  amid  the  branches.  Already  these 
soothing  influences  were  at  work  upon  him;  like 
those  tall  rods  along  which  the  lightning  escapes  and 
is  dissipated,  Helene  discharged  the  electric  fluids  of 
his  hate  and  anger.  In  vain  he  still  tried  to  resist 
and  to  defy  her;  like  the  knight  whose  armour  had 
been  undone,  he  felt  some  portion  of  his  rancour  and 
prejudice  fall  off  at  every  step.  As  they  talked,  they 
had  come  round  upon  the  chateau.  The  day  was 
drawing  to  a  close;  the  declining  sun  was  length- 

141 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ening  out  the  shadows  of  the  oaks  and  poplars.  At 
the  foot  of  the  steps  Bernard  was  preparing  to  take 
leave  of  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  when  she,  without  let- 
ting go  his  arm,  drew  him  gently  into  the  salon, 
where  Mme.  de  Vaubert  had  already  rejoined  the 
marquis,  dreading  the  result  of  leaving  him  to  his 
own  inspirations. 

"  You  are  agitated,  sir,"  she  said  at  once,  ad- 
dressing Bernard.  "  How  could  it  be  otherwise? 
This  park  was,  as  it  were,  the  cradle  of  your  happy 
youth.  As  a  child,  you  played  on  these  lawns;  under 
these  shady  trees  you  dreamed  your  first  dreams  of 
life  and  glory.  And  so,  too,  latterly  that  was  your 
dear  father's  favourite  walk,  as  though  he  expected 
to  see  you  coming  at  each  turn  of  the  alley." 

"  I  can  see  him  still,"  said  the  marquis,  "  passing 
along  the  bowling-green;  he  looked  like  a  patriarch, 
with  his  white  hair,  his  blue  woollen  stockings,  his 
fustian  waistcoat,  and  his  velvet  breeches." 

"  He  was  indeed  a  patriarch,"  added  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  unctuously. 

"  On  my  faith,"  cried  the  marquis,  "  patriarch  or 
not,  he  was  a  worthy  man! " 

"So  good!  So  simple!  So  charming!"  con- 
tinued Mme.  de  Vaubert. 

"And  no  fool!"  exclaimed  the  marquis.  "For 
all  his  good-nature,  he  had  a  way  of  turning  things 
that  surprised  people." 

142 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"As  soon  as  he  appeared,  people  used  to  press 
round  and  make  a  circle  to  listen  to  him." 

"  He  was  a  philosopher.  As  he  talked,  one  used 
to  ask  where  he  had  got  hold  of  the  things  he  was 
saying." 

"  He  found  them  in  his  beautiful  soul,"  said  Mme. 
de  Vaubert. 

"  And  what  a  genial  temper!  "  cried  the  marquis, 
carried  away  in  spite  of  himself  by  the  current;  "  al- 
ways gay,  always  pleased,  always  his  little  joke! " 

"  Yes,"  pursued  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "  with  us  he 
regained  all  his  humour,  his  natural  gaiety,  and  the 
fresh  sallies  of  a  happy  temper.  He  had  been 
changed  for  a  long  time  by  the  rust  of  isolation,  but 
in  the  peace  of  family  life  his  amiable  qualities  re- 
covered their  old  brilliancy  and  native  freshness. 
He  was  never  tired  of  repeating  that  we  had  taken 
thirty  years  off  his  age.  In  his  naive  metaphors,  he 
compared  himself  to  an  old  trunk  throwing  up  new 
shoots." 

"  Indeed  he  was  a  gentle  nature  that  one  could 
not  know  without  loving  it,"  said  Helene,  ascribing 
to  her  father  and  the  baronne  the  delicacies  of  her 
own  mind  and  character,  in  order  to  account  for  their 
assiduous  attention  to  Bernard. 

"  Ah  dame,"  continued  the  baronne,  "  how  he 
adored  the  Emperor!  It  would  not  have  been  wise 
to  contradict  him  on  that  subject.  What  heat,  what 

143 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

enthusiasm,  each  time  he  talked  of  that  great  man! 
He  often  talked  of  him,  and  we  used  to  listen  with 
the  greatest  pleasure." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  marquis,  "  he  talked  about 
him  often,  indeed  one  might  say  he  talked  about 
him  very  often.  But  there,"  he  added,  confounded 
by  a  look  from  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  and  recovering 
himself  promptly,  "  it  pleased  the  worthy  man,  and 
that  was  all  to  our  good.  Vive  Dieu,  M.  Bernard, 
your  father  may  flatter  himself  up  there  that  he  pro- 
cured us  some  very  agreeable  moments  here  below." 

The  conversation  had  got  to  this  point,  and  Ber- 
nard had  not  been  able  to  put  in  a  word,  when  a 
lackey  came  to  say  that  dinner  was  on  the  table.  M. 
de  la  Seigliere  gave  his  arm  to  the  baronne,  Helene 
took  that  of  the  young  man,  and  all  four  went  into 
the  dining-room.  It  all  happened  so  promptly,  so 
naturally,  that  Bernard  only  found  out  what  he  had 
done  when  he  saw  himself  seated,  as  if  by  magic,  close 
to  Helene,  at  the  table  of  the  marquis.  M.  de  la 
Seigliere  had  not  even  invited  him  to  stay;  and  if 
Bernard  had  been  a  guest  and  inmate  of  six  months' 
standing,  the  thing  could  not  have  been  done  with 
less  form  or  ceremony.  He  wanted  to  get  up  and 
make  his  escape,  but  the  young  lady  said:  "  That  was 
long  your  father's  place;  in  future  it  will  be  yours." 

"We  make  no  change,"  said  the  marquis;  "only 
there  will  be  one  child  more  in  the  house." 

144 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"Touching  unity!  charming  reunion!"  mur- 
mured Mme.  de  Vaubert. 

Not  knowing  if  he  were  awake  or  the  sport  of  a 
dream,  Bernard  hastily  unfolded  his  napkin,  and  sat 
riveted  on  his  chair. 

From  the  very  first  course,  the  marquis  and  Mme. 
de  Vaubert  talked  away  as  if  they  were  unconscious 
of  the  presence  of  an  extra  guest,  exactly  as  if  Ber- 
nard had  not  been  there,  or  rather,  as  if  he  had  always 
been  a  member  of  the  family.  Bernard  was  silent,  hard- 
ly touching  his  glass  with  his  lips,  and  scarcely  tasting 
the  dishes  served  to  him.  No  one  worried  him;  they 
appeared  not  to  notice  his  gloomy  and  thoughtful 
attitude.  As  at  the  beginning  of  every  meal,  the  con- 
versation turned  at  first  upon  indifferent  matters;  a 
few  words  were  interchanged  here  and  there,  no  allu- 
sions being  made  to  the  present  situation;  at  most, 
from  time  to  time  there  was  some  indirect  allusion 
to  the  late  excellent  M.  Stamply.  From  banalities 
and  trivialities  they  naturally  got  on  to  the  politics  of 
the  day.  The  marquis  let  fall  certain  expressions  at 
which  Bernard  pricked  up  his  ears;  a  few  quips  were 
launched  on  either  hand;  in  short,  the  discussion  was 
soon  in  full  swing.  Mme.  de  Vaubert  promptly  took 
the  reins,  and  never  did  Automedon  driving  a  quad- 
riga and  raising  the  Olympic  dust  show  more  dex- 
terity than  the  baronne  on  this  occasion.  The  course 
was  difficult,  beset  with  pitfalls,  bristling  with  obsta- 

145 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

cles,  full  of  fences  and  ruts;  at  first  set  off,  the  mar- 
quis ran  the  risk  of  breaking  his  neck.  She  managed 
to  convert  it  into  a  road  as  straight,  as  firm,  and  as 
well  paved  as  the  avenue  of  a  royal  chateau;  she  got 
round  every  obstacle,  curbed  the  giddy  impetuosity 
of  the  marquis,  spurred  Bernard  on  without  irrita- 
ting him,  sent  them  off  one  after  the  other,  trotting, 
galloping,  stepping  high;  then,  after  letting  them 
manoeuvre,  pirouette,  prance,  and  caracole,  always 
in  such  fashion  as  to  leave  Bernard  with  the  honours 
of  the  day,  she  picked  up  her  reins,  pulled  on  the 
double  bit,  and  brought  them  both  back  fraternally 
to  the  point  they  started  from.  Bernard  insensibly 
began  to  like  the  game.  Warmed  by  the  exercise, 
carried  along  in  spite  of  himself  by  the  good-humour 
of  the  marquis,  he  unstiffened  and  grew  more  genial, 
till  at  last,  when  the  old  gentleman  said  to  him  at 
dessert,  as  he  filled  his  glass:  "This,  sir,  is  a  wine 
your  father  did  not  despise;  let  us  empty  our  glasses 
to  his  memory,  and  to  your  safe  return,"  Bernard 
mechanically  raised  his  glass,  and  clinked  it  with  that 
held  out  by  the  marquis. 

The  meal  over,  they  rose  from  table  and  took  a 
turn  in  the  park.  The  evening  was  fine.  Helene 
and  Bernard  walked  together,  preceded  by  the  mar- 
quis and  the  baronne,  who  were  talking,  their  voices 
almost  lost  in  the  splash  of  the  fountain  and  the 
murmur  of  the  foliage.  The  young  couple  were 

146 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

silent,  and,  as  it  were,  absorbed  in  the  rustling  of  the 
dry  leaves  through  which  they  were  walking.  When 
the  marquis  and  his  companion  disappeared  at  the 
turn  of  an  alley,  the  pair  might  for  a  moment  have 
thought  themselves  alone  in  the  deserted  park,  in 
the  dim  starlight.  Purer  and  more  serene  than  the 
azure  canopy  above  their  heads,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere 
experienced  no  emotion,  and  went  her  way  with  a 
slow,  dreaming,  absent  step,  while  Bernard,  paler 
than  the  moon  that  was  rising  behind  the  alders,  and 
trembling  more  than  the  blades  of  grass  upon  the 
night  wind,  was  intoxicated,  unaware,  with  the  first 
thoughts  of  love  that  had  agitated  his  heart. 

When  they  returned  to  the  salon  the  conversa- 
tion once  more  became  general  around  one  of  the 
cheery  fires  that  brighten  the  autumn  evenings. 
The  vine-logs  crackled  on  the  hearth;  the  breezes, 
laden  with  odours  from  the  woods,  played  round 
the  curtains  of  the  open  windows.  Seated  comfort- 
ably in  an  arm-chair,  not  far  from  Helene,  who  was 
busy,  near  the  lamp,  with  her  tapestry,  Bernard 
yielded,  without  conscious  reflection,  to  the  charm 
of  the  domestic  scene.  From  time  to  time  the  mar- 
quis rose,  and  after  kissing  his  daughter's  forehead, 
sat  down  again.  At  other  times  it  was  the  amiable 
girl  who  looked  up  affectionately  at  her  father.  Ber- 
nard forgot  himself  in  contemplating  their  simple 
happiness. 

147 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglifere 

Soon,  however,  they  wanted  to  hear  the  story  of 
his  captivity;  M.  de  la  Seigliere  and  his  daughter 
joined  their  entreaties  to  those  of  the  baronne.  It 
is  soothing  to  talk  of  one's  self,  and  of  the  ills  one 
has  endured,  more  particularly  after  a  good  dinner, 
with  the  added  stimulus  of  a  Dido  or  a  Desdemona 
hanging,  palpitating  and  curious,  on  one's  lips,  with 
glances  of  emotion  and  heaving  breast.  Bernard  fell 
the  more  easily  into  the  snare  inasmuch  as  Helene, 
without  suspecting  it,  played  the  part  of  the  poor 
decoy  set  to  entice  the  feathered  people  into  the 
fow!er's  net.  First,  he  related  the  affair  at  the  Mos- 
kova.  He  sketched  in  sweeping  outlines  the  plan  of 
the  locality,  the  arrangement  of  the  ground,  the  rela- 
tive disposition  of  the  two  armies;  then  he  described 
the  battle.  He  began  in  a  serious,  earnest  tone;  but 
soon,  excited  by  his  memories,  carried  away  by  his 
own  words  as  on  wings  of  flame,  his  eyes  lit  up,  and 
his  voice  rang  out  like  a  clarion.  They  smelt  the 
powder,  heard  the  whistling  of  the  bullets,  saw  the 
battalions  move  to  the  attack  against  cross-fires,  up 
to  the  moment  when  he  was  struck  down  himself 
at  the  head  of  his  squadron  and  fell  lifeless  under  the 
horses'  feet  on  ground  already  thick  with  corpses. 
As  he  spoke,  he  was  magnificent;  Mile,  de  la  Sei- 
gliere let  fall  her  needle  as  she  listened  in  breathless 
attention,  contemplating  Bernard  with  artless  ad- 
miration. 

148 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Tis  a  poet  relating  the  exploits  of  a  hero!" 
cried  Mme.  de  Vaubert  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Sir,"  added  the  marquis,  "  you  may  congratu- 
late yourself  on  having  seen  death  at  close  quarters. 
What  a  battle!  I  shall  dream  of  it  all  night.  Evi- 
dently you  hit  hard,  but  then  what  the  devil  was  your 
Emperor  doing  out  in  that  confounded  Russia?  " 

"  He  had  his  idea,"  replied  Bernard  haughtily; 
"  that  was  not  our  business." 

Afterward  he  told  them  how  he  had  waked  up 
to  find  himself  a  prisoner,  and  how  from  prisoner  he 
had  become  a  slave.  He  related  simply,  without 
emphasis  or  exaggeration,  how  he  had  spent  six 
years  of  servitude  in  the  depths  of  Siberia,  in  the 
midst  of  savage  tribes,  who  were  even  more  savage, 
more  cruel,  more  pitiless  than  their  skies  and  climate; 
he  told  them  of  all  he  had  endured — hunger,  cold, 
hard  labour,  barbarous  treatment — he  told  it  all;  and 
more  than  once  during  this  fateful  recital  a  furtive 
tear  stole  under  Helene's  eyelids,  shone  like  a  drop 
of  dew  upon  her  drooping  lashes,  and  rolled  as  a 
liquid  pearl  upon  the  tapestry  she  had  taken  up  again, 
doubtless  to  hide  her  emotion. 

"Noble  youth!"  said  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  with 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  "  Was  that  the  price 
of  your  heroic  courage?  " 

"  Ventre-saint-gris,  sir!  "  said  the  marquis.  "  You 
must  be  doubled  up  with  rheumatism." 

149 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Thus  is  all  glory  expiated,"  continued  the  ba- 
ronne  in  a  tone  of  melancholy;  "  thus,  too  often,  the 
laurel  branch  is  changed  into  the  martyr's  crown. 
My  poor  young  friend,  how  you  have  suffered! "  she 
added,  pressing  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  profound 
sympathy. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  marquis,  "  I  predict  that  in  your 
old  age  you  will  be  eaten  up  with  gout." 

"  After  such  troubles  and  miseries,"  cried  Mme. 
de  Vaubert,  "  it  must  be  sweet  to  rest  in  the  bosom 
of  an  affectionate  family,  surrounded  with  friendly 
faces,  supported  by  faithful  hearts.  Happy  the  exile 
who,  on  returning  to  his  native  soil,  has  not  found 
his  court-yard  silent,  his  house  empty,  his  hearth 
cold  and  solitary." 

"A  Siberian  gout!"  cried  the  marquis,  slapping 
his  leg.  "  Here  is  a  variety  which  has  cost  me  dear, 
though  it  only  came  from  Germany.  I  pity  you,  sir. 
A  Siberian  gout!  You  have  not  done  with  those 
Cossacks  yet." 

Mme.  de  Vaubert's  last  words  had  suddenly  re- 
called the  young  man  to  the  exigencies  of  his  posi- 
tion. Eleven  o'clock  had  just  struck  on  the  tor- 
toise-shell time-piece,  inlaid  with  copper,  which  or- 
namented the  marble  chimney-shelf.  Ashamed  of 
his  vacillation,  Bernard  rose,  and  this  time  was  going 
to  retire  definitely,  not  knowing  what  to  decide,  but 
feeling  still,  in  the  midst  of  his  uncertainty,  that  this 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

was  no  place  for  him,  when,  the  marquis  having 
pulled  a  moire  ribbon  that  hung  beside  the  mirror, 
the  door  of  the  salon  opened,  and  a  lackey  appeared 
on  the  threshold,  armed  with  a  two-branched  cande- 
labrum with  lighted  candles. 

"  Germain/'  said  the  marquis,  "  show  this  gentle- 
man his  rooms.  They  are  the  same,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  Bernard,  "  that  your  father  occupied  for  so 
long." 

"  It  is  really  too  bad  of  us,  sir,"  exclaimed  the 
baronne,  "  to  have  kept  you  up  so  late.  We  ought 
to  have  remembered  that  you  needed  sleep;  but  we 
were  so  glad  to  see  you  and  so  charmed  with  all  you 
have  been  telling  us.  You  must  forgive  the  indis- 
cretion that  had  no  excuse  save  the  charm  of  all  you 
had  to  say." 

"  Pleasant  dreams,  sir,"  said  the  marquis;  "  ten 
hours'  sleep  will  see  you  over  your  fatigues.  To- 
morrow, as  soon  as  we  rise,  we  will  beat  the  heath 
and  bag  a  few  young  rabbits.  You  should  like  this 
sport;  it  is  the  reflection  of  war." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  who  was  still 
agitated,  "  do  not  -forget,  in  the  first  place,  that  you 
are  at  home;  in  the  second,  that  you  are  among 
friends  who  will  make  it  as  much  a  pleasure  as  a 
duty  to  heal  your  heart,  and  to  efface  even  the 
memory  of  so  many  evil  days.  My  father  will  try 
to  make  up  to  you  for  the  affection  of  the  father 

8— VoL;  '5* 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

you  have  lost,  and  I,  if  you  will,  shall  be  your 
sister." 

"  If  you  like  hunting,"  cried  the  marquis,  "  I  can 
promise  you  royal  sport." 

"  Imperial  even,"  interrupted  the  baronne, 

"  Yes,"  repeated  the  marquis,  "  imperial.  We 
will  hunt  on  foot,  we  will  go  a-coursing,  we  will  hunt 
with  farriers,  we  will  hunt  with  hounds.  Vive  Dieul 
if  you  treat  the  foxes  like  the  Austrians,  and .  the 
badgers  like  the  Russians,  I  pity  the  inhabitants  of 
our  woods." 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  added  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "  that  I 
shall  often  have  the  pleasure  of  receiving  you  at  my 
little  manor.  Your  worthy  father,  who  honoured  me 
with  his  friendship,  enjoyed  my  table  and  my  hearth. 
Come  and  talk  of  him  in  the  place  where  he  has 
so  often  talked  of  you." 

"  Well,  M.  Bernard,  good-night  and  sleep  well," 
said  the  marquis,  waving  his  hand;  "  may  your  father 
send  you  sweet  dreams  from  above." 

"  Good-bye,  M.  Bernard,"  repeated  the  baronne, 
with  an  affectionate  smile;  "sleep  on  the  thought 
that  you  are  no  longer  alone  in  the  world." 

"  Till  to-morrow,  M.  Bernard,"  said  Helene  in 
her  turn.  "  That  is  what  your  good  father  and  I  used 
always  to  say  when  we  parted  for  the  night." 

Dazzled,  dizzy,  overwhelmed,  fascinated,  ensnared, 
hemmed  in  on  all  sides,  Bernard  made  a  gesture  of 

152 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

resignation;  then,  after  bowing  respectfully  to  Mile, 
de  la  Seigliere,  he  left  the  room,  preceded  by  Ger- 
main, who  conducted  him  into  the  richest  and  most 
sumptuous  apartment  of  the  chateau.  It  was,  in 
fact,  that  which  the  poor  "  old  rogue  "  had  inhabited 
for  a  white  before  they  relegated  him  like  a  leper  to 
the  most  retired  and  isolated  part  of  the  building; 
only  it  had  been  much  embellished  since  then,  and 
on  this  particular  day  they  had  taken  pains  to  fit  it 
for  the  occasion.  When  Bernard  entered,  the  flame 
from  the  hearth  was  playing  on  the  gilded  mouldings 
of  the  ceiling,  and  on  the  copper  rods  that  framed 
and  held  the  hangings  of  sombre  green  velvet.  An 
Aubusson  carpet  strewed  the  parquet  with  such  fresh 
and  brilliant  flowers  that  you  would  have  said  they 
had  been  newly  gathered  in  the  surrounding  mead- 
ows and  scattered  by  fairy  hands.  Bernard,  who  for 
ten  years  past  had  only  slept  on  camp-beds,  on  snow, 
on  wolf-skins,  and  under  the  sheets  of  any  pot-house, 
could  not  resist  a  sense  of  indescribable  satisfaction 
on  perceiving,  under  the  swelling  eider-down,  the 
fine  white  linen  of  a  bed  that  stood  like  the  throne 
of  slumber  at  the  end  of  an  alcove,  mysteriously  con- 
structed of  the  same  stuff  as  the  hangings.  All  the 
requirements  of  luxury,  all  the  elegances,  all  the 
conveniences  of  life,  were  collected  round  him,  and 
seemed  to  smile  on  him.  An  ingenious  solicitude 
had  foreseen  everything,  calculated  everything, 

153 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

guessed  at  everything.  There  are  delicacies  of  hos- 
pitality that  rarely  fail  among  the  poor,  but  are  not 
always  provided  by  more  magnificent  hosts;  here 
nothing  was  wanting:  neither  wit,  nor  grace,  nor 
coquetry,  which  is  rarer  than  magnificence.  When 
Germain  had  retired,  after  setting  everything  ready 
for  his  new  master's  toilet,  Bernard  took  a  childish 
pleasure  in  examining  and  touching  the  thousand 
little  odds  and  ends  of  the  toilet,  whose  use  he  had 
forgotten.  We  should  not  dare,  for  instance,  to  tell 
how  much  he  relished  the  sight  of  the  flasks  of  eau 
de  Portugal  and  the  scent  of  the  perfumed  soaps. 
One  needs  to  spend  six  years  with  the  Tartars  to 
appreciate  these  puerilities.  On  either  side  of  the 
mirror,  half  hidden  by  tufts  of  asters,  dahlias,  and 
full-blown  chrysanthemums  in  bulging  Japanese 
vases,  shone  daggers,  inlaid  pistols,  diamonds,  and 
soldiers'  ornaments.  At  one  corner  of  the  chimney- 
piece  a  priceless  cup  overflowed  with  gold  pieces, 
as  if  they  had  been  forgotten  there.  Bernard  paused 
neither  at  the  gold  nor  at  the  flowers,  nor  even  at 
the  arms.  As  he  wandered  round  the  room  he  fell 
into  an  ecstasy  before  a  silver  tray  laden  with  cigars 
which  Mme.  de  Vaubert  had  fetched  from  the  town 
from  an  old  sea-captain  of  her  acquaintance — a  hos- 
pitable attention  which  would  be  a  matter  of  course 
to-day,  but  was  then  a  stroke  of  audacious  genius. 
He  took  one,  lit  it  at  the  flame  of  a  candle;  then, 

154 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

stretched  at  his  ease  in  a  long  chair,  wrapped  in  a 
cashmere  dressing-gown,  his  feet  in  Turkish  slippers, 
he  began  to  think  of  his  father,  of  his  strange  destiny, 
of  the  unexpected  turn  of  the  day's  events,  of  the 
part  that  remained  to  him  to  choose.  Worn  out 
with  fatigue,  his  head  burning,  his  eyelids  heavy,  his 
ideas  soon  became  troubled  and  confused.  In  this 
drowsy  state,  which  might  be  termed  the  twilight  of 
the  intelligence,  he  seemed  to  see  fantastic  groups 
rising  and  forming  in  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  above  his 
head.  Now  it  was  his  old  father  and  mother  mount- 
ing up  to  heaven  on  a  cloud;  now  his  Emperor,  sit- 
ting on  a  rock,  with  his  arms  crossed  upon  his  breast; 
now  the  marquis  and  the  baronne,  hand  in  hand, 
dancing  a  saraband;  again,  and  most  often,  a  grace- 
ful and  gracious  figure  that  leaned  towards  him  with 
a  smile.  When  his  cigar  was  finished  he  threw  him- 
self on  to  the  bed,  rolled  under  the  eider-down,  and 
went  off  in  a  profound  slumber. 

Whether  from  fatigue,  or  because  she  wanted  to 
be  alone  with  her  thoughts,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere 
quitted  the  salon  about  the  same  time  as  Bernard. 
Left  together  by  the  fireside,  the  baronne  and  the 
marquis  looked  at  one  another  for  a  moment  in  si- 
lence. 

"  Well,  marquis,"  at  last  said  the  baronne,  "  little 
Bernard  is  a  fine  fellow.  His  father  reeked  of  the 
stable,  the  son  reeks  of  the  barrack." 

155 


.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"Brute!"  cried  the  marquis,  at  the  last  stage 
of  exasperation;  "I  thought  he  would  never  have 
done  with  his  battle  of  the  Moskova!  Battle  of  the 
Moskova,  indeed!  What  sort  of  an  affair  might  that 
be?  What  was  it?  who  knows  about  it?  who  talks 
of  it?  I  have  never  been  in  war,  but  if  I  had,  by 
the  sword  of  my  ancestors,  madame,  that  would  have 
been  another  pair  of  shoes.  Every  one  should  have 
stayed  there;  not  even  a  pensioner  should  have  come 
back.  Battle  of  the  Moskova!  And  this  puppy,  his 
airs  of  a  Caesar  or  an  Alexander!  These  are  our 
heroes!  these  are  the  famous  battles  which  M.  Bona- 
parte made  so  much  fuss  about,  and  which  the  ene- 
mies of  the  monarchy  crack  up  so  loudly!  They 
turn  out  to  be  merely  little  hygienic  and  sanitary 
exercises;  the  dead  pick  themselves  up,  and  the  slain 
are  all  the  better  for  it.  Vive  Dieu!  When  we  are 
in  it — we — things  are  very  different;  when  a  gentle- 
man falls,  he  does  not  get  up  again.  But  if  one  were 
only  a  clodhopper,  a  plebeian,  a  Stamply,  and  one 
were  killed  in  the  service  of  France,  que  diable!  one 
would  at  least  have  the  decency  not  to  come  and 
talk  about  it  to  other  people.  If  he  had  an  ounce 
of  heart,  this  scapegrace  would  blush  to  find  himself 
still  alive;  he  would  go  off  and  fling  himself  head 
first  into  the  river." 

"  What  can  you  expect,  marquis?  Those  people 
have  no  manners,"  said  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  smiling. 

156 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Well,  let  him  live  then,  but  let  him  have  the 
decency  to  hide  himself.  '  Bury  your  life,'  said  the 
sage.  If  he  loved  glory,  as  he  pretends,  would  he 
not  have  preferred  to  remain  dead  on  the  field  of 
honour  sooner  than  drag  his  bones  and  his  shame 
and  his  misery  back  here?  Why  didn't  he  stay  in 
Siberia?  He  was  all  right  there;  he  was  accustomed 
to  it.  This  soft  gentleman  complains  of  the  climate; 
you  would  suppose  he  had  been  born  in  cotton-wool 
and  brought  up  in  a  hot-house.  The  Cossacks  are 
a  fine  race,  with  gentle,  hospitable  manners.  He  calls 
them  savages.  Be  civil  to  these  ragamuffins!  Save 
their  lives!  Take  them  into  your  house!  Make  their 
existence  pleasant!  Here's  all  the  gratitude  you  get! 
They  treat  you  like  a  cannibal.  I'll  wager,  what- 
ever he  may  say,  that  he  was  as  happy  as  a  fighting 
cock,  but  these  rascals  never  know  when  they  are 
well  off.  And  then  they  come  and  talk  to  you  about 
country,  and  liberty,  and  native  soil,  and  paternal 
roof  smoking  on  the  horizon — big  words  which  they 
hold  up  as  a  screen  for  their  disorder  and  miscon- 
duct." 

"  Country,  liberty,  paternal  roof,  all  seasoned 
with  an  inheritance  of  a  million;  one  must  admit," 
observed  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "  that  without  being 
exactly  a  swaggerer,  one  might  quit  the  flowery 
banks  of  the  Don  and  the  intimacy  of  the  Bashkirs 
for  less  than  that." 

157 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"An  inheritance  of  a  million!"  exclaimed  the 
marquis.  "  But  where  the  deuce  is  he  going  to  get 
it  from?  " 

"  From  your  pocket,"  replied  the  baronne,  an- 
noyed at  having  perpetually  to  run  after  him  to 
bring  him  back  to  the  practical  side  of  the  question. 

"  Oh,  indeed!  "  cried  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  "  but  our 
Bernard  is  a  dangerous  man  at  this  rate.  If  he 
pushes  me  to  extremities,  Mme.  la  Baronne,  there 
is  no  saying  what  I  may  be  capable  of.  I  might 
even  drag  him  into  court!  " 

"  Good! "  said  the  baronne;  "  then  you  will  save 
him  the  trouble  of  dragging  you  there.  For  Heaven's 
sake,  marquis,  don't  let  us  begin  all  over  again!  The 
facts  are  here,  and  pressing  you  close  on  all  sides. 
Since  you  cannot  escape  them,  have  the  pluck  to 
look  them  in  the  face.  What  is  there  at  this  stage 
of  the  affair  to  give  you  so  much  alarm?  Bernard 
is  caged,  the  lion  is  muzzled — you  have  got  your 
prey." 

"  A  nice  prey  to  have  got  hold  of!  In  Heaven's 
name,  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  with  it." 

'  Time  will  show.  This  morning  we  had  to  in- 
veigle the  enemy  into  the  place.  That  is  done.  Now 
we  want  to  expel  him  from  it.  That  will  be  done 
also." 

"  And  meantime,"  said  the  marquis,  "  we  are 
going  to  be  fed  on  Siberia,  on  grapeshot,  on  Mos- 

158 


Mademoiselle  de  la,  Seigliere 

4 

kova.  We  shall  have  to  swallow  sword-blades  fric- 
asseed in  snow  and  bayonets  dished  up  in  hoar-frost. 
And  then,  Mme.  la  Baronne,  don't  you  think  I  am 
playing  an  abominable  part?  In  all  this,  the  part  of 
a  villain?  Ventre-saint-gris!  I  may  swear  like  Henri 
IV,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  go  to  work  very  dif- 
ferently from  the  Bearnais  to  recover  my  kingdom." 
"  Do  you  believe,  then,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert,  "  that  courage  is  only  a  matter  of  shooting 
with  an  arquebuse,  and  that  great  deeds  can  be  ac- 
complished only  at  the  point  of  the  sword?  If  France 
has  not  been  divided  in  these  latter  days,  split  up, 
and  drawn  by  lot,  like  the  vestment  of  Christ,  whom 
has  she  to  thank?  M.  Talleyrand,  in  his  embroidered 
coat,  pump  shoes  and  silk  hose,  his  right  leg  crossed 
over  his  left,  his  hand  at  the  frill  of  his  shirt,  has 
done  more  for  France  than  all  this  rabble  in  leather 
breeches  who  call  themselves  the  Old  Guard,  and 
have  not  been  able  to  save  anything.  Don't  you, 
for  instance,  see  that  in  the  day  we  have  just  gone 
through  you  displayed  a  hundred  times  more  genius 
than  the  Bearnais  at  the  battle  of  Ivry?  To  shake 
one's  white  plume  as  a  flag,  to  cut  and  thrust,  to 
strew  the  ground  with  dead  and  dying — that's  noth- 
ing so  very  difficult.  What  really  is  glorious  is  to 
triumph  in  this  battle-field  that  we  call  life.  Let 
me  compliment  you  on  this  score.  You  have  shown 
the  coolness  of  a  hero,  the  subtlety  of  a  demon,  and 

159 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglifere 

the  grace  of  an  angel.  Upon  my  word,  marquis, 
you  were  admirable." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  marquis,  crossing  his  right 
leg  over  his  left  and  playing  with  his  lace  frill,  "  cer- 
tainly the  poor  wretch  was  quite  dazzled." 

"Ah,  marquis,  how  you  smoothed  him  down! 
You  turned  an  iron  gauntlet  into  a  kid  glove.  I 
knew  you  to  be  brave  and  valiant,  but  I  must  con- 
fess that  I  was  far  from  suspecting  you  of  such  mar- 
vellous subtlety.  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  the  oak  and 
yet  know  how  to  bend  like  the  reed.  Marquis  de  la 
Seigliere,  your  place  has  been  usurped  at  the  Con- 
gress of  Vienna  by  Prince  Benevent." 

"  You  think  so,  baronne?  "  replied  M.  de  la  Sei- 
gliere, caressing  his  chin. 

"  With  a  turn  of  your  thumb,  you  would  have 
bent  the  bow  of  Nimrod,"  said  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 
smiling.  "  You  would  tame  tigers,  you  would  teach 
panthers  to  eat  out  of  your  hand." 

"  What  can  you  expect?  It  is  the  history  of  all 
these  petty  people.  From  afar  they  talk  only  of  de- 
vouring us;  if  we  deign  to  smil*  on  them,  they  squirm 
and  grovel  at  our  feet.  It  is  all  very  well,  madame; 
I  am  not  yet  old  enough  to  play  the  part  of  Don 
Diego.  If  this  fellow  were  a  gentleman,  I  could  re- 
member the  lessons  of  Saint  George." 

"  Marquis,"  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert  proudly, 
"  if  this  fellow  were  a  gentleman,  and  you  were  Don 

160 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Diego,  you  would  not  have  far  to  go  before  you 
met  Rodrigo." 

At  this  moment  Raoul  came  in,  gloved,  curled, 
neat  as  a  new  pin,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  a  smile 
on  his  lips,  his  face  fresh  and  rosy,  spotless  from  head 
to  foot,  as  if  he  had  just  been  unpacked  from  a  band- 
box. He  was  coming  in  search  of  his  mother,  to 
take  her  back  to  Vaubert;  also,  no  doubt,  hoping 
to  pay  his  addresses  to  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  whom 
he  had  not  seen  since  the  previous  evening.  Raoul 
was  a  refreshing  and  a  charming  sight  to  the  mar- 
quis and  the  baronne.  To  them  his  arrival  was  like 
the  entrance  of  a  thorough-bred  Limousin  into  some 
arena  sullied  by  the  intrusion  of  a  Normandy  mule. 
It  was  late;  the  day  was  drawing  to  a  close;  the 
two  hands  of  the  clock  were  about  to  meet  upon  the 
enamel  surface  at  the  hour  of  twelve.  After  giving 
her  hand  to  the  marquis,  Mme.  de  Vaubert  with- 
drew, leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  son  and  reserving 
to  herself  the  time  and  place  for  informing  him  of 
the  ever-memorable  events  with  which  this  stupen- 
dous day  had  been  filled. 

An  hour  later  all  was  in  repose  on  either  bank 
of  the  Clain.  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  who  had  fallen 
asleep  under  the  influence  of  the  violent  emotion 
he  had  been  experiencing,  dreamed  that  a  countless 
number  of  hussars,  all  slain  at  the  battle  of  Moskova, 
were  silently  dividing  his  estates;  he  saw  them  flying 

161 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

off  at  a  gallop,  each  with  his  portion  on  his  horse's 
crupper — this  man  with  a  farm,  that  one  with  a  field, 
another  with  a  meadow,  Bernard  galloping  on  ahead 
with  the  park  in  his  valise  and  the  chateau  on  his 
saddle-bow.  No  longer  having  a  tittle  of  land  be- 
neath his  feet,  the  distracted  marquis  felt  himself 
roiling  through  space  like  a  comet,  and  vainly  try- 
ing to  hitch  himself  on  to  the  stars. 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  dreaming  on  her  side,  and 
her  dream  strongly  resembled  a  well-known  apo- 
logue. She  saw  a  young  and  beautiful  maiden,  seat- 
ed on  a  fine  lawn,  with  a  huge  lion  crouching  amo- 
rously at  her  feet,  one  paw  upon  her  knees,  while  a 
troop  of  menials,  armed  with  forks  and  sticks,  watched 
what  was  going  on  from  behind  a  clump  of  oaks. 
The  young  girl  held  up  the  yellow-haired  paw  with 
one  hand,  while  with  the  other  she  trimmed  the 
claws,  which  the  creature  stretched  out  docilely  from 
the  velvet,  with  a  pair  of  scissors.  When  each  paw 
had  been  submitted  to  the  same  operation,  the  beau- 
tiful girl  drew  out  of  her  pocket  an  ivory-handled 
file;  taking  in  her  arms  the  head  with  its  blond  mane, 
she  raised  its  thick  and  heavy  lips  with  one  delicate 
hand,  while  with  the  other  she  gently  filed  away  the 
double  row  of  formidable  teeth.  When  from  time 
to  time  the  patient  gave  a  sullen  roar,  she  soothed 
it  promptly  by  a  flattering  word  or  gesture.  The 
second  operation  over,  and  the  lion  bereft  of  teeth 

162 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  claws,  the  young  girl  rose,  and  the  labourers, 
rushing  out  of  their  hiding-place,  surrounded  the  ani- 
mal, which  scampered  off  with  drooping  tail  and 
ears. 

Bernard  dreamed  that  in  the  midst  of  a  snow- 
field,  beneath  a  sky  of  bluish  ice,  he  suddenly  per- 
ceived a  beautiful  lily,  which  sprang  up  and  perfumed 
the  air.  As  he  approached  to  pluck  it,  the  royal 
flower  changed  into  a  fairy  with  ebony  eyes  and 
golden  hair,  who  carried  him  off  across  the  clouds 
and  set  him  down  on  the  enchanted  shores  of  ever- 
lasting spring. 

Lastly,  Raoul  dreamed  that  it  was  his  wedding 
evening.  As  he  was  on  the  point  of  opening  the 
ball  with  the  young  Baronne  Vaubert  he  made  the 
horrid  discovery  that  he  had  put  his  tie  on  wrong 
side  out. 


163 


CHAPTER   VII 

MLLE.  DE  LA  SEIGLIERE  alone  was  awake.  Lean- 
ing from  the  open  window,  her  forehead  resting  on 
her  hand,  the  fingers  buried  in  the  masses  of  her  hair, 
she  was  listening  absently  to  the  confused  rumours 
that  rose  to  her  ear  from  the  sleeping  fields,  from  the 
concert  of  the  water,  the  leaves,  and  the  breezes — 
a  nocturne  of  creation — the  harmonious  language  of 
serene  and  starry  nights.  To  all  these  voices  and 
all  these  murmurs  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  mingled  the 
first  thrills  of  a  heart  in  which  life  was  just  awaken- 
ing. She  perceived  in  herself,  as  it  were,  the  sound 
of  a  hidden  spring,  on  the  point  of  breaking  out,  and 
already  lifting  off  the  moss  and  turf  with  which  it 
was  covered. 

Helene  had  been  brought  up  amid  a  gracious, 
elegant,  and  polished  society — a  society  little  varied 
in  its  measures,  cold,  correct,  formal — we  will  not 
say  tedious.  Her  conversations  with  old  Stamply, 
Bernard's  letters,  the  image  and  the  memory  of  the 
dead  whom  she  had  never  known,  had  been  the  poem 
of  her  youth.  From  hearing  so  much  of  the  dead 
man,  from  reading  and  rereading  his  letters,  which 

164 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

all  breathed  an  admirable  filial  piety,  along  with  the 
exaltation  of  glory — letters  of  the  child  as  much  as 
the  hero — caressing  and  chivalrous,  all  written  in 
the  intoxication  of  victory  the  day  after  the  battle — 
she  had  grown  to  feel  for  him  the  poetic  affection 
which  attaches  to  the  memory  of  young  friends  gath- 
ered in  before  their  time.  Little  by  little  this  strange 
sentiment  had  germinated  and  blossomed  in  her  heart 
like  some  mysterious  flower.  Why  should  she  feel 
misgivings  at  a  dream  whose  reality  she  had  never 
conceived  of?  Why  alarm  herself  at  a  shadow  whose 
corpse  was  sleeping  in  the  tomb?  Sometimes  she 
carried  the  letters  out  on  her  excursions,  as  if  they 
had  been  some  favourite  book.  This  very  morning", 
sitting  on  the  hillside,  under  a  clump  of  aspens,  she 
had  read  the  most  touching  over  again — that  in 
which  Bernard  sent  his  old  father  a  scrap  of  the  red 
ribbon  that  had  decorated  his  breast.  The  bit  of  rib- 
bon was  still  there,  tarnished  by  the  smoke  of  pow- 
der and  by  old  Stamply's  kisses.  Helene  had  not 
been  able  to  avoid  the  reflection  that  it  was  worth 
a  good  deal  more  than  the  pinks,  the  roses,  or  the 
camellias  that  M.  de  Vaubert  always  wore  in  his  but- 
tonhole. She  had  returned  with  her  head  and  heart 
full  of  fire  and  passion,  and  on  reaching  the  chateau 
had  hardly  entered  the  salon  when  she  was  con- 
fronted with  Bernard — Bernard  resuscitated,  Ber- 
nard in  flesh  and  blood  before  her.  Less  than  this 

165 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

would  have  been  sufficient  to  inflame  a  fallow  im- 
agination, till  now  stirred  only  by  chimeras.  The 
miraculous  apparition  of  this  young  man,  who  was 
unlike  any  one  she  had  ever  seen  before,  while  he 
did  not  differ  materially  from  the  type  she  had  vague- 
ly imagined  of  him,  the  position  of  this  son  whom 
she  believed  to  have  been  disinherited  by  his  father's 
probity,  his  sad  and  serious  air,  his  proud  and  dig- 
nified behaviour,  the  military  stamp  on  his  look  and 
brow,  all  that  he  had  endured  and  suffered — in  short, 
all  the  details  of  this  strange  day — had  produced  a 
deep  and  romantic  impression  upon  the  lovely  girl. 
Too  remote  from  any  suspicion  of  the  cause  of  her 
trouble  to  be  alarmed  at  it,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere 
abandoned  herself  without  demur  to  the  sensations 
that  flooded  her  heart  like  the  waves  of  a  new  life. 
She  understood,  however,  that  since  Bernard  lived, 
she  had  no  longer  any  right  to  keep  the  letters  that 
old  Stamply  had  intrusted  to  her  upon  his  death- 
bed. At  the  idea  of  separation  from  them,  her  heart 
grew  heavy;  she  took  them  all,  one  by  one,  and  read 
them  again  for  the  last  time;  then  she  slipped  them 
into  an  envelope,  after  silently  bidding  farewell  to 
these  friends  of  her  solitude,  companions  of  her 
leisure. 

After  this  the  young  girl  returned  to  the  balcony; 
she  remained  there  some  time  longer,  gazing  at  the 
stars  that  sparkled  in  the  sky,  at  the  white  vapour 

166 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

tracing  in  the  air  the  course  of  the  invisible  Clain, 
and  the  moon,  looming  like  a  copper  disk  eaten  out 
by  the  horizon  at  its  edges. 

Some  hours  after  the  day  had  dawned  Bernard 
awoke  in  darkness;  a  single  ray  of  sunshine,  coming 
from  some  hidden  chink,  divided  the  room  by  a  lu- 
minous band,  in  which  a  swarm  of  little  flies  were 
dancing  amid  a  million  atoms,  like  dust  of  gold  in 
a  track  of  fire.  After  remaining  some  seconds  in 
that  state  of  well-being  and  nonchalance  that  is 
neither  sleep  nor  waking,  he  suddenly  sprang  up, 
listening  to  the  confused  murmur  of  reality  that  be- 
gan to  overtake  him  like  the  sound  of  the  rising  tide, 
and  looked  round  him  in  amazement.  The  sound 
grew  louder,  the  tide  went  on  rising.  Uneasy,  be- 
wildered, he  flung  himself  off  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
drew  back  the  curtains,  opened  the  shutters,  and 
with  instantaneous  illumination  of  mind  and  eyes, 
saw  clearly  both  his  room  and  his  destiny.  The  eagle 
which,  after  roosting  in  its  eyrie,  wakes  up  upon  a 
perch  in  a  cage  of  the  menagerie,  could  not  experi- 
ence a  more  profound  and  terrible  rage  and  stupe- 
faction than  was  felt  by  Bernard  at  the  remembrance 
of  what  had  passed  the  night  before.  He  beat  his 
forehead  in  despair,  calling  himself  coward,  perjurer, 
dastard.  He  felt  inclined  to  fling  out  of  the  window 
Japanese  vases,  goblet  of  gold  pieces,  Turkish  slip- 
pers, tray  of  cigars,  and  to  complete  his  expiation 

167 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

by  flinging  himself  after  them.  He  would  have  liked 
to  wring  the  baronne's  neck;  he  considered  what 
punishment  would  be  severe  enough  for  the  mar- 
quis; even  Helene  was  not  exempt  from  his  anger. 
Standing  motionless  before  a  mirror,  he  asked  him- 
self if  it  were  really  his  own  image  that  he  saw  re- 
flected there.  Was  it  he,  indeed?  Traitor  in  one 
day  to  all  his  instincts,  traitor  to  his  opinions,  to 
his  feelings,  his  origin,  his  duty,  his  resolutions,  even 
to  his  interests,  he  had  foregathered  with  the  aristo- 
crats, accepted  the  hospitality  of  the  despoilers  and 
assassins  of  his  father.  And  by  what  fatal  charm,  by 
what  obscure  enchantment?  Indignant  at  having 
been  cajoled  like  a  child;  convinced  that  the  marquis 
was  nothing  but  an  old  roue,  his  daughter  an  adoles- 
cent conspirator,  brought  up  in  the  school  of  Mme. 
de  Vaubert;  clear  of  all  the  spells  insidiously  woven 
round  him;  at  once  ashamed  and  angry  at  having 
let  himself  be  ensnared,  like  Gulliver,  by  pigmies, 
he  took  his  riding-whip,  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes, 
and,  meaning  not  even  to  bid  adieu  to  his  enter- 
tainers, left  the  chateau,  resolute  to  enter  it  no  more 
till  he  should  have  driven  out  the  race  of  La  Sei- 
gliere. 

As  he  was  crossing  a  court  planted  with  limes, 
chestnuts,  and  fig-trees,  in  order  to  get  to  the  stable 
and  himself  saddle  the  horse  that  had  brought  him 
hither,  he  encountered  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  who 

168 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

had  just  left  her  room,  and  was  even  more  beautiful 
in  her  simple  morning  wrapper  than  she  had  ap- 
peared the  night  before.  Her  forehead  was  so  serene 
and  pure,  her  gait  so  calm,  her  gaze  so  limpid,  that 
when  Bernard  saw  her  he  felt  his  convictions  melt 
away  with  his  anger,  as  the  mists  upon  the  hills 
disperse  before  the  rising  sun.  To  suspect  this  state- 
ly, gracious  creature  of  tricks,  lies,  intrigue,  and  du- 
plicity would  have  been  tantamount  to  imputing 
murder  and  carnage  to  the  iris-plumaged  doves  that 
were  billing  and  cooing  upon  the  roof  of  the  pigeon- 
house  hard  by.  The  young  lady  went  straight  to  the 
hussar. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  "  I  was  looking  for  you." 

Bernard  quivered  at  the  ring  of  this  voice  that 
was  sweeter  and  fresher  than  the  balmy  breath  of 
spring,  more  frank,  more  loyal  and  sincere  than  the 
ring  of  gold  without  alloy,  and  the  charm  began  to 
work  again.  They  were  at  this  moment  near  a  little 
door  that  led  into  the  country.  Helene  opened  it, 
and,  passing  her  hand  through  Bernard's  arm — 

"  Come,"  she  added.  "  It  is  early  still,  and  my 
/ather  was  joking  last  night  when  he  offered  to  shoot 
with  you  this  morning  over  our  lands  and  commons. 
You  will  have  to  content  yourself  with  taking  a  walk 
with  me  across  the  fields.  You  will  be  the  loser,  but 
the  rabbits  will  gain." 

"  See  here,  mademoiselle,"  said  Bernard  in  a 
169 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

trembling  voice,  as  he  gently  disengaged  himsetf  from 
Helene,  "  I  respect  you  and  I  honour  you.  I  believe 
you  to  be  as  noble  as  you  are  beautiful;  I  feel  that 
to  doubt  you  would  be  to  doubt  God  Almighty.  You 
loved  my  father;  you  were  the  guardian  angel  of  his 
old  age.  You  supported  him  in  his  agony;  you  sat 
beside  his  pillow  and  helped  him  to  die.  I  thank 
and  bless  you.  You  undertook  the  duties  of  the 
absent;  for  that  I  shall  feel  eternally  grateful  to  you. 
But  now  let  me  go.  I  cannot  explain  to  you  the 
serious  motives  that  make  me  feel  this  to  be  a  duty; 
but  since  I  recognise  it  as  a  duty,  since  I  have  the 
strength  to  tear  myself  away  from  your  gracious  in- 
sistance,  you  will  understand,  mademoiselle,  that  the 
motives  which  govern  me  are  imperative  indeed." 

"  Sir,"  returned  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  who  be- 
lieved she  held  the  key  to  the  motives  Bernard  spoke 
of,  "  if  you  are  alone  in  this  world,  if  you  have  no 
urgent  engagements  to  call  you  hence,  if  your  heart 
is  free  of  other  ties,  I  know  nothing  that  can  ab- 
solve you  from  living  among  us." 

"  I  am  alone  in  the  world,  my  heart  is  free  of  all 
ties,"  replied  the  young  man  sadly;  "but  remember 
that  I  am  only  a  rough  soldier,  with  rude  and  doubt- 
less coarse  manners.  I  have  neither  the  tastes  nor 
the  habits  and  opinions  of  your  father.  A  stranger 
to  the  world  you  live  in,  I  should  only  be  an  in- 
truder, and  should  probably  suffer  in  it  myself." 

170 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Is  that  all,  sir?  "  said  Helena.  "  But  think,  then, 
in  your  turn,  that  you  are  on  your  own  land  here, 
and  that  no  one  would  ever  think  of  contradicting 
your  tastes,  your  habits,  or  your  opinions.  My  fa- 
ther is  of  an  amiable,  indulgent,  easy  nature.  We 
shall  see  you  at  your  own  hours;  if  you  prefer  it,  you 
need  never  see  us.  You  will  choose  the  mode  of  life 
that  suits  you  best;  and,  apart  from  the  temperature, 
which  we  can  hardly  hope  to  regulate,  it  only  rests 
with  yourself  to  believe  that  you  are  still  in  mid- 
Siberia.  Only  you  will  not  freeze,  and  you  will  have 
France  at  your  door." 

"  You  may  be  sure,  mademoiselle,"  replied  Ber- 
nard, "  that  my  place  is  not  with  the  Marquis  de 
la  Seigliere." 

"  That  is  as  much  as  to  say,  sir,  that  our  place 
is  not  here,"  replied  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  "  for  we 
are  here  in  your  home." 

And  so  these  honest  and  charming  creatures  ab- 
dicated in  favour  of  each  other,  each  wishing  not  to 
humiliate  the  other.  Bernard  blushed,  grew  con- 
fused, and  was  silent. 

"  You  see  quite  well,  sir,  that  you  cannot  go,  and 
you  will  not  go.  Come,"  added  Helene,  taking  the 
young  man's  arm  again;  "yesterday  I  transmitted 
to  you,  as  it  were,  the  last  days  of  your  father;  I  have 
still  a  legacy  that  he  confided  to  me  on  his  death- 
bed, and  which  I  am  bound  to  hand  over  to  you." 

171 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

With  these  words  she  led  Bernard  away;  once 
again  he  followed  her,  and  the  two  stepped  into  a 
secluded  path  that  ran  through  the  grounds  between 
hedges  of  hawthorn  and  privet.  It  was  one  of  those 
brilliant  mornings  that  are  not  yet  veiled  by  the  mel- 
ancholy of  autumn.  Bernard  recognised  the  sites  amid 
which  he  had  grown  up,  each  step  awakened  some 
memory,  at  each  turn  of  the  hedge  he  encountered 
some  fresh  image  of  his  early  years.  Walking  thus, 
the  two  talked  of  days  gone  by.  Bernard  told  of  his 
turbulent  boyhood;  Helene  related  the  story  of  her 
earnest,  serious  youth.  Sometimes  they  stopped, 
either  to  exchange  an  idea,  an  observation,  or  a  senti- 
ment, or  to  gather  the  mints  and  foxgloves  that  grew 
at  the  sides  of  the  path,  or  to  admire  the  effects  of 
fight  upon  the  hills  and  meadows.  Then,  surprised 
at  some  sympathetic  revelation,  they  would  pursue 
their  road  in  silence  till  some  new  incident  came  to 
interrupt  the  dumb  language  of  their  souls.  If  to 
some  it  seem  strange  or,  let  us  boldly  say  the  word, 
indecorous  that  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis  de  la 
Seigliere  should  thus  be  walking  hi  her  morning 
ntglige  beside  a  yotmg  man  whom  she  had  seen  for 
the  first  time  on  the  previous  evening,  it  is  because 
these  critics,  whose  exquisite  sensibilities  we  would 
not  for  the  world  displease,  forget  that  Mile,  de  la 
Seigliere  was  too  chaste  and  too  pure  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  modesty  and  reserve  enjoined  by 

173 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

society  upon  its  vestals.  We  would  remind  them 
also  that  Helene  had  grown  up  in  absolute  freedom, 
and  that  in  following  the  inclination  of  her  heart  she 
believed  herself  to  be  fulfilling  her  duty. 

After  an  hour's  walk,  they  arrived,  without  think- 
ing of  it,  at  the  farm  where  Bernard  was  born.  At 
the  sight  of  this  humble  dwelling  where  nothing 
was  changed,  he  could  not  restrain  his  emotion.  He 
wanted  to  see  and  revisit  everything;  then  came  and 
seated  himself  near  Helene,  in  the  court-yard,  on 
the  same  bench  on  which  his  father  had  sat  a  few 
days  before  his  death.  They  were  both  moved,  and 
remained  silent.  When  Bernard  raised  his  head, 
which  had  been  hidden  for  a  long  time  in  his  hands, 
his  face  was  wet  with  tears. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  turning  to  Helene,  "  I 
told  you  yesterday  of  my  six  years'  exile  and  hard 
slavery.  You  are  good — I  know  and  feel  it.  Per- 
haps you  felt  pity  for  my  martyrdom;  and  yet  in  this 
indiscreet  account  of  my  woes  and  miseries  I  did 
not  mention  the  sharpest  of  my  tortures.  This  tor- 
ture has  not  ceased;  I  carry  it  in  my  bosom  like  a 
vulture  that  gnaws  my  vitals.  When  I  left  my  father, 
he  was  already  old  and  alone  in  the  world.  In  vain 
he  put  before  me  that  he  had  no  one  but  me  to  com- 
fort him.  I  left  him  pitilessly  to  run  after  the  phan- 
tom called  by  the  name  of  glory.  In  the  midst  of 
camps  and  of  the  intoxication  of  war,  I  did  not  re- 

173 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

fleet  upon  my  ingratitude;  in  the  silence  of  captivity 
I  felt  myself  crushed  of  a  sudden  by  the  weight  of  a 
terrible  thought.  I  pictured  my  old  father  bereft  of 
parents,  friends,  and  family,  given  up  to  despair, 
weeping  my  death,  casting  reproaches  on  my  life. 
Thenceforward,  the  thought  that  he  was  displeased 
with  me  and  doubted  my  tenderness  gave  me  neither 
peace  nor  rest;  it  became  the  grief  of  my  heart,  and 
I  still  ask  myself  whether  he  forgave  me  on  his  death- 
bed." 

"  He  died  blessing  your  memory,"  replied  the 
young  lady;  "he  departed  joyfully,  in  the  hope  of 
meeting  you  in  heaven." 

"  Did  he  never  speak  of  me  with  bitterness?  " 
"  He  never  spoke  of  you  save  in  love,  and  with 
enthusiasm." 

a  Did  he  never  curse  my  departure?  " 
"  He  never  did  aught  but  tremble  with  pride  at 
the  thought  of  your  glorious  labours.  For  him  you 
were  no  more,  and  yet  you  were  his  entire  life.  He 
wept  for  you,  and  yet  he  only  existed  in  and  for  you. 
When  he  was  on  the  point  of  expiring  he  handed 
your  letters  over  to  me,  as  the  thing  left  to  him  that 
was  most  dear  and  precious  to  bequeath.  Here  are 
the  letters,"  said  Helene,  drawing  them  from  a  velvet 
bag  and  giving  them  to  Bernard ;  "  they  have  taught 
me  to  know  and  to  love  France.  I  have  seen  your 
father  steeping  them  in  his  tears  and  kisses." 

174 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  Bernard  in  a  voice  of  deep 
emotion,  "  you  helped  the  father  to  die,  you  are  help- 
ing the  son  to  live;  a  thousand  blessings  be  upon 
you." 

And  they  returned  more  silently  than  they  had 
come.  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  who  was  still  under  the 
influence  of  the  hideous  dream  of  the  night  before, 
received  Bernard  with  cordiality,  and  he  could  not 
avoid  sitting  down  at  the  breakfast  table  between 
the  marquis  and  his  daughter.  Left  to  himself,  the 
marquis  was  charming.  If  he  gave  vent  to  a  few 
imprudences,  his  follies  had  an  air  of  frankness  and 
loyalty  that  was  not  unpleasing  to  the  frank  and 
loyal  nature  of  his  guest.  When  the  meal  was  over, 
the  day  passed  like  a  dream,  Bernard  always  on  the 
point  of  leaving,  always  held  back  by  some  new  epi- 
sode. He  turned  over  albums  with  Helene,  went  to 
the  billiard-room  with  the  marquis,  allowed  himself 
to  be  driven  in  an  open  carriage,  visited  the  stables 
of  the  chateau  and  talked  horses  with  the  old  gen- 
tleman, who  loved  and  affected  to  understand  them. 
Ip  the  afternoon  came  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  put 
forth  all  the  cajoleries  of  her  wit  and  grace.  The 
dinner  was  almost  merry.  In  the  evening,  over  the 
fire,  Bernard  forgot  himself  in  telling  over  his  battles 
once  more.  In  short,  when  midnight  struck,  after 
shaking  hands  with  the  marquis,  he  retired  to  his 
room,  and  while  he  promised  himself  that  he  would 
9-Vol.7  175 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

go  next  day,  he  smoked  a  cigar  and  went  to  bed 
peacefully. 

Meantime,  what  had  become  of  the  young  baron? 
In  the  forenoon  of  this  same  day  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 
who  had  dissuaded  her  son  from  presenting  himself 
at  the  chateau  the  evening  before,  had  summoned 
him  to  her  presence. 

"  Raoul,"  she  said  at  once,  "  do  you  love  me?  " 

"What  a  question,  mother!"  replied  the  young 
man. 

"Are  you  devoted  body  and  soul  to  my  inter- 
ests? " 

"  Have  you  ever  had  reason  to  doubt  me?  " 

"  If  important  business  that  concerns  me  obliged 
you  to  start  for  Paris?  " 

"  I  would  go." 

"  Immediately?  " 

"  I  will  go  at  once." 

"  Without  losing  an  hour?  " 

"  I  am  off,"  said  Raoul,  taking  his  hat. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mme.  de  Vaubert.  "  This  let- 
ter contains  my  instructions;  you  will  not  open  it 
till  you  get  to  Paris.  The  Bordeaux  mail  passes 
Poitiers  in  about  two  hours.  Here  is  money.  Kiss 
me.  And  now,  be  gone." 

"  Without  offering  my  adieux  to  the  marquis  and 
my  homage  to  his  daughter? "  asked  Raoul,  hesi- 
tating. 

176 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  I  will  see  to  that,"  said  the  baronne. 

«  But " 

"  Raoul,  do  you  love  me?  " 

"What  will  they  think?" 

"  Are  you  devoted  to  me?  " 

"  Mother,  I  am  gone." 

Three  hours  later  M.  de  Vaubert  was  trundling 
off  to  Paris,  less  perplexed  and  put  out  than  you 
would  have  expected,  feeling  sure  his  mother  had 
only  sent  him  off  to  buy  the  wedding  presents.  Di- 
rectly he  had  arrived,  he  broke  the  seal  of  the  en- 
velope that  contained  the  baronne's  wishes,  and  read 
the  following  instructions: 

"  Amuse  yourself,  go  into  society,  live  only  with 
people  of  your  own  rank,  never  forget  your  dignity 
upon  any  occasion,  control  your  youth,  don't  think 
of  returning  until  I  send  for  you,  and  trust  me  to 
look  after  your  happiness." 

Raoul  did  not  understand,  and  did  not  try  to. 
Next  day  he  walked  solemnly  on  the  boulevards, 
with  a  cold  and  distinguished  air,  as  little  curious 
about  his  surroundings  in  the  midst  of  Paris,  which 
he  saw  for  the  first  time,  as  if  he  had  been  taking 
a  walk  on  his  own  estates. 


177 


CHAPTER   VIII 

WEEKS  and  months  went  by.  Always  on  the 
point  of  starting,  Bernard  never  left.  The  season 
was  favourable;  he  hunted,  rode  the  horses  of  the 
marquis,  and  finally  let  himself  go  in  the  current  of 
the  elegant  and  facile  life  expressed  in  the  term  vie 
de  chateau.  The  sallies  of  the  marquis  pleased  him. 
While  he  still  felt,  in  regard  to  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 
a  sense  of  vague  defiance  and  inexplicable  malaise, 
he  had  yielded,  without  attempting  to  ask  himself 
the  reason,  to  the  charm  of  her  grace  and  wit.  The 
meals  were  gay,  the  wine  excellent;  the  walks  in  late 
evening  on  the  banks  of  the  Clain  or  under  the  trees 
of  the  park,  where  autumn  had  now  swept  the  leaves, 
the  palavers  round  the  fire,  the  discussions,  the  tales 
of  adventure,  shortened  the  long,  idle  evenings. 
When  the  marquis  gave  vent  to  some  aristocratic 
sally  that  fell  like  a  bomb  at  Bernard's  feet,  Helene, 
working  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  at  a  piece  of  em- 
broidery, would  raise  her  blond  head,  to  heal  by 
her  smile  the  wound  her  father  had  given.  Mile. 
de  la  Seigliere,  who  still  believed  the  young  man  to 
be  in  a  painful,  humiliating,  and  precarious  position 

178 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

at  the  chateau,  was  solely  preoccupied  in  making 
him  forget  it.  This  error  gave  Bernard  such  agree- 
able compensations  that  he  endured  the  follies  of  the 
incorrigible  old  marquis  with  a  heroic  patience  which 
surprised  himself.  Besides,  while  they  agreed  on  no 
one  point,  Bernard  and  the  marquis  had  arrived  at 
a  certain  liking  for  each  other.  The  open  character 
of  Stamply's  son,  his  frank  and  loyal  nature,  his  firm 
attitude,  his  brisk  and  daring  speech,  the  very  ardour 
of  his  sentiments  each  time  the  battles  of  the  Em- 
pire and  the  glory  of  his  Emperor  were  mentioned, 
were  not  offensive  to  the  old  gentleman.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  chivalrous  follies  of  the  great  noble- 
man were  entertaining  enough  to  the  young  soldier. 
They  hunted  together,  rode  on  horseback,  played  at 
billiards,  discussed  politics,  lost  their  tempers,  quar- 
relled, and  were  not  far  from  loving  each  other. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  the  marquis  thought,  "  for  a 
hussar  and  a  farmer's  son,  our  fine  fellow  really  is 
not  a  bad  sort."  "  Well,"  said  Bernard  to  himself, 
"  for  a  marquis,  a  gallant  of  the  ancien  regime,  this 
old  gentleman  is  not  too  impossible."  And  at  night 
when  they  parted,  and  in  the  morning  when  they 
met,  they  shook  hands  cordially. 

The  autumn  was  drawing  to  a  close;  winter  made 
Bernard  appreciate  the  joys  of  the  fireside  and  the 
delights  of  intimacy  even  more  acutely.  Since  his 
installation  at  the  chateau  they  had  judged  it  pru- 

179 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglierc 

dent  to  check  the  stream  of  visitors.  They  lived  at 
home;  the  festivities  came  to  an  end.  Bernard,  who 
had  passed  the  previous  winter  in  hyperborean 
steppes,  no  longer  thought  of  resisting  the  seduc- 
tions of  this  amiable  and  charming  family.  He  rec- 
ognised that  in  last  resort  these  nobles  had  their 
good  points,  and  improved  at  close  quarters.  He 
asked  himself  what  would  have  become  of  him,  sad 
and  solitary,  in  this  deserted  chateau.  He  told  him- 
self that  he  would  be  wanting  in  respect  to  his 
father's  memory  if  he  brought  the  rigour  of  the  law 
to  bear  upon  these  people  who  had  cheered  his  fa- 
ther's last  days;  and  that,  since  they  did  not  con- 
test his  rights,  he  must  leave  it  to  time,  to  the  deli- 
cacy and  loyalty  of  his  guests,  to  bring  this  strange 
story  to  a  fitting  close  without  broils  and  discussions. 
In  short,  in  abandoning  himself  to  the  flood  on  which 
he  was  cradled,  good  reasons  were  not  wanting  to 
excuse  him  in  his  own  eyes,  and  to  justify  his  weak- 
ness. There  was  one  that  was  worth  all  the  rest; 
it  was  the  only  one  he  did  not  mention. 

For  Helene,  the  time  passed  lightly  and  rapidly; 
for  Bernard,  rapidly  and  lightly.  No  great  perspi- 
cacity was  needed  to  discover  what  was  passing  in 
these  two  young  hearts;  but  our  marquis,  whose  ideas 
were  the  same  in  love  and  politics,  would  never  have 

/ 

conceived  the  notion  that  his  blood  could  possibly 
feel  attracted  by  that  of  his  quondam  farmer.  On 

180 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  other  hand,  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  for  all  her 
subtlety  had  never  suspected  the  surprises  of  passion, 
could  not  reasonably  suppose  that  Bernard's  pres- 
ence could  eclipse  the  image  of  Raoul.  Nor  did 
Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  suppose  it  either.  This  child 
knew  so  little  of  love  that  she  believed  herself  enam- 
oured of  her  fiance;  recognising  herself  before  God 
the  bride  of  M.  de  Vaubert,  believing  herself  in  re- 
gard to  Bernard  to  be  merely  acting  from  generosity, 
she  abandoned  herself  without  question  to  the  mys- 
terious current  that  was  engulfing  her. 

Often,  indeed,  she  compared  the  heroic  youth  of 
the  one  with  the  indolent  existence  of  the  other; 
often,  in  reading  Raoul's  letters,  thinking  the  while 
of  those  from  Bernard,  she  was  astonished  to  find 
the  tenderness  of  the  lover  less  burning  and  less  ex- 
alted than  the  tenderness  of  the  son;  when,  with 
sparkling  eyes,  his  forehead  glowing  with  magical 
reflections,  Bernard  spoke  of  glory  and  of  combats, 
or,  seated  near  her,  contemplated  her  in  silence, 
Helene  was  conscious  indeed  of  a  strange  and  new 
emotion  that  she  had  never  experienced  in  the  pres- 
ence of  her  handsome  fiance;  but  how  could  she  have 
divined  love  in  these  tremors  of  her  being,  she  who 
till  now  had  mistaken  for  love  a  lukewarm,  peaceable 
feeling,  untroubled  and  free  from  mystery,  causing 
neither  pain  nor  joy.  And  lastly,  Bernard  himself 
was  unconsciously  intoxicated  by  the  charm  that  en- 

181 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

veloped  him.  Thus  these  two  young  people  met  every 
day,  in  perfect  freedom  as  well  as  perfect  innocence, 
each  trying  mutually  to  make  the  other  forget  their 
respective  positions — Helene  redoubling  her  fascina- 
tions, Bernard  his  humility — neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  knowing  that  love  had  already  crept  in  beneath 
these  adorable  delicacies.  And  yet  it  fell  out  one 
day  that  a  simultaneous  revelation  came  to  them. 

Shortly  before  the  advent  of  Bernard,  by  one  of 
the  youthful  freaks  common  enough  to  the  old  age 
of  the  marquis,  he  had  acquired  a  young  Limousin 
of  the  purest  breed,  with  the  reputation  of  being 
indomitable — no  one  so  far  having  been  able  to 
mount  him.  Helene  had  named  him  Roland,  in  allu- 
sion doubtless  to  Rolando  Furioso.  A  poor  wretch, 
some  would-be  centaur,  having  volunteered  to  break 
him,  was  promptly  thrown  by  Roland,  with  a  frac- 
tured spine.  Since  then  no  one  had  ventured  to 
mount  the  champion,  who  for  the  rest  was  the  talk 
of  the  country  for  ten  miles  round,  on  account  of  his 
marvellous  beauty  and  pure  breed.  One  day,  when 
they  were  talking  of  him,  Bernard  boasted  that  he 
would  master  the  animal,  break  him  in,  and  make 
him,  in  less  than  a  month,  as  docile  and  gentle  as 
a  lamb.  Mme.  de  Vaubert  encouraged  him  to  make 
the  attempt;  the  marquis  roused  himself  to  dissuade 
him;  Helene  implored  him  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Feeling  his  honour  piqued,  Bernard  went  straight 

182 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

to  the  stables,  and  soon  after  appeared  beneath  the 
balcony  where  were  the  baronne,  M.  de  la  Seigliere, 
and  his  daughter,  on  Roland,  saddled,  magnificent 
and  terrible.  Furious  at  the  bit,  with  foaming 
mouth,  fiery  nostrils,  and  bloodshot  eyes,  like  some 
wild  steed  rebelling  at  girth  and  bridle,  the  superb 
animal  leaped  up  with  incredible  fury,  reared,  pi- 
rouetted, stood  on  his  hind  legs — all  to  the  visible 
satisfaction  of  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  seemed  to  take 
the  most  lively  interest  in  these  exercises,  while  the 
marquis  applauded  loudly,  surprised  at  the  grace  and 
address  of  the  rider. 

"  Ventre-salnt-gris!  Young  man,  you  must  have 
the  blood  of  the  Lapithae  in  your  veins,"  he  cried, 
clapping  his  hands. 

When  Bernard  came  back  to  the  salon  he  found 
Helene  as  white  as  a  ghost.  For  the  rest  of  the 
day  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  addressed  him  neither  by 
word  nor  look;  only  in  the  evening,  when  Bernard, 
who  feared  he  had  offended  her,  was  passing  near 
her,  sad  and  silent,  while  the  marquis  and  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  were  absorbed  in  a  game  of  chess — 

"  Why  do  you  stake  your  life  in  this  reckless 
manner?  "  asked  Helene  in  a  low  voice,  coldly,  with- 
out raising  her  eyes  or  interrupting  her  embroidery. 

"  My  life?  "  replied  Bernard,  smiling.  "  It  is  a 
very  poor  stake." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  that,"  said  Helene. 
183 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Pray  believe  no  one  cares  about  it,"  Bernard 
went  on  in  a  trembling  voice. 

'  You  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Helene 
again.  "  Besides,  it  is  sinful  to  dispose  in  that  way 
of  a  gift  of  God." 

"  Checkmate,"  cried  the  marquis.  "  Young 
man,"  he  added,  turning  to  Bernard,  "  I  repeat  that 
you  must  be  of  the  blood  of  the  Lapithae." 

"  At  this  rate,"  said  Mme.  de  Vaubert  in  her  turn, 
"  I  wager  that  M.  Bernard  will  be  master  of  Roland, 
and  will  lead  him  about  like  a  lamb,  before  the  week 
is  over." 

"  You  shall  never  ride  that  horse  again,"  said 
Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  in  a  tone  of  calm  and  cold 
authority,  her  eyes  still  dropped  upon  her  work,  and 
speaking  so  as  to  be  heard  only  by  the  young  man, 
who  withdrew  almost  immediately  to  hide  the  agi- 
tation into  which  her  words  had  thrown  him. 


184 


CHAPTER    IX 

THINGS  having  got  to  this  pass,  there  was  no 
apparent  reason  why  they  should  for  a  very  long 
time,  if  ever,  assume  a  different  complexion.  Thor- 
oughly well  established,  Bernard's  position  seemed 
to  be  invulnerable.  The  utmost  the  marquis  could 
reasonably  hope  was  that  the  young  man  might  be 
pleased  to  make  no  change  in  his  affairs,  and  to 
stand  at  that.  Hereupon,  to  speak  plainly,  the  mar- 
quis became  annoyed.  He  was  instinctively  attract- 
ed to  Bernard,  and  liked  him,  or  was  at  any  rate 
willing  to  tolerate  him,  as  often  as  his  volatile  dispo- 
sition enabled  him  to  forget  the  title  by  which 
Stamply's  son  was  sitting  at  his  table  and  his  fire- 
side; but  in  his  hours  of  reflection,  when,  crushed 
by  the  sense  of  his  dependence,  the  marquis  fell  back 
upon  the  realities  of  the  situation,  he  saw  in  him 
only  an  enemy  to  the  domicile,  a  sword  of  Damocles 
suspended  by  a  thread  flaming  above  him.  Two 
Bernards  existed  for  him,  the  one  who  was  not  ob- 
noxious, the  other  whom  he  would  willingly  have 
sunk  a  hundred  feet  beneath  the  surface.  He  no 
longer  displayed,  in  talking  to  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  pretty  rages  and  charming  passions  in  which 
he  at  first  indulged.  He  was  no  longer  the  petu- 
lant and  frisky  marquis,  breaking  his  halter  at  every 
moment,  escaping  by  leaps  and  bounds  into  the  fields 
of  fantasy.  The  reality  had  mastered  him;  if  at 
times  he  still  attempted  to  escape  from  it,  the  rider 
ruthlessly  pulled  him  up,  with  a  dig  in  the  flanks 
from  his  iron  spur.  Mme.  de  Vaubert  herself  was 
far  from  the  bold  assurance  that  had  at  first  dis- 
tinguished her.  Not  that  she  had  thrown  up  the 
game — Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  not  the  woman  to  be 
so  soon  discouraged;  but  whatever  she  might  say 
to  reassure  him,  the  marquis  felt  that  she  was  hesi- 
tating, uncertain,  troubled,  irresolute.  The  fact  is, 
that  the  baronne  no  longer  felt  the  confident  in- 
trepidity that  had  upheld  her  so  long,  that  she  had 
so  long  succeeded  in  communicating  to  the  heart 
of  the  old  gentleman.  As  she  studied  Bernard, 
watched  him  closely,  and  observed  his  life,  the  con- 
viction had  grown  on  her  that  his  was  not  the  mind 
or  character  with  which  one  makes  arrangements; 
she  understood  that  she  had  to  deal  with  one  of 
those  proud  and  susceptible  natures  which  impose 
conditions,  but  do  not  receive  them;  which  may  ab- 
dicate, but  never  come  to  terms.  Since,  in  this  in- 
stance, the  abdication  would  involve  a  million,  it 
was  hardly  probable  that  Bernard  would  readily  con- 
sent to  it,  however  disinterested  he  might  be.  Mile. 

186 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglifcre 

de  la  Seigliere  alone  might  attempt  this  miracle; 
she  alone  could  crown  the  work  of  seduction  that 
her  youth,  her  grace  and  beauty,  had  begun  victori- 
ously, all  unconsciously  to  herself.  Unfortunately, 
Helene  was  only  a  simple  creature,  and  single-heart- 
ed. If  she  possessed  the  charm  that  converts  the 
lion  into  the  lover,  she  ignored  the  art  of  filing  his 
teeth  and  paring  down  his  claws.  By  what  spells 
and  subterfuges  could  this  noble  heart  be  brought, 
without  suspecting  it,  to  become  the  instrument  of 
guile  and  the  accomplice  of  intrigue?  All  Mme. 
de  Vaubert's  genius  spent  itself  in  vain  over  this 
problem.  Her  interviews  with  the  marquis  had  no 
longer  the  spirit  and  animation  that  formerly  char- 
acterized them.  There  was  no  more  of  the  haughty 
disdain,  the  superb  contempt,  the  sprightly  manner, 
which  doubtless  more  than  once  have  drawn  a  smile 
from  the  reader.  When  the  sportsman  sets  off  in 
the  morning,  at  the  first  dawn  of  day,  full  of  hope 
and  ardour,  he  breathes  the  air  deep  into  his  lungs 
and  sets  his  feet  with  delight  upon  the  dewy  mead- 
ows and  stubble-fields.  To  see  him  thus,  his  gun 
upon  his  shoulder,  escorted  by  his  dogs,  you  would 
say  that  he  was  marching  to  the  conquest  of  the 
world.  But  at  mid-day,  when  the  dogs  have  started 
neither  hare  nor  partridge,  and  the  sportsman  sees 
that  he  will  return  at  night  to  his  lodge  with  an 
empty  bag,  without  firing  a  shot,  unless  he  wastes 

187 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

his  powder  on  the  linnets,  he  trudges  on  with  a  sulky 
step,  through  the  brambles  that  tear  his  gaiters,  un- 
der the  burning  sun  that  beats  on  his  head,  till  he 
sits  down  discouraged  beneath  the  first  hedge  he 
comes  to.  That  is  more  or  less  the  history  of  the 
baronne  and  the  marquis.  They  have  reached  mid- 
day without  bagging  any  game;  in  fact,  they  are 
more  to  be  pitied  than  our  sportsman,  for  the  game 
has  bagged  them. 

"Well,  Mme.  la  Baronne?"  the  marquis  would 
ask  sometimes,  shaking  his  head  with  an  air  of  con- 
sternation. 

"  Well,  marquis,"  Mme.  de  Vaubert  would  re- 
ply, "  we  must  wait  and  see.  This  Bernard  is  not 
exactly  the  fool  we  reckoned  on.  Real  or  pretended, 
he  is  not  without  a  certain  elevation  in  his  ideas  and 
feelings.  Everybody  gets  it  more  or  less  in  these 
days.  Thanks  to  the  benefits  of  a  revolution  that 
has  confounded  all  classes  and  suppressed  all  lines 
of  demarcation,  the  rabble  pretend  that  their  organ- 
ization is  on  the  level  of  ours;  there  is  no  one  so 
shabby  that  they  would  not  think  themselves  dis- 
honoured if  they  did  not  claim  the  dignity  of  a  Ro- 
han, the  pride  of  a  Montmorency.  It  is  a  sad  pity, 
but  there  it  is.  These  people  will  end  by  blazoning 
their  filth,  and  making  it  into  a  coat  of  arms." 

"  All  the  same,  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  retorted 
the  marquis,  "  we  are  playing  a  vile  game,  and  have 

188 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

not  even  luck  to  excuse  us.  Thanks  to  your  advice, 
I  am  likely  to  lose  both  my  fortune  and  my  honour 
at  once;  it  is  too  much  by  half.  How  is  this  comedy 
going  to  end?  You  keen  on  telling  me  that  our 
prey  is  in  our  hands.  Par  Dieu!  it  is  sooner  we  that 
are  in  the  hands  of  our  prey.  We  have  shut  up  a 
rat  in  a  Dutch  cheese." 

"  We  must  see,  we  must  wait,"  repeated  Mme. 
de  Vaubert.  "  Henri  IV  did  not  win  his  kingdom 
in  a  day." 

"  He  won  it  on  horseback,  at  the  point  of  an 
unblemished  sword." 

"  You  forget  the  mass." 

"  It  was  a  low  mass;  that  which  I  have  to  hear 
has  lasted  three  months,  and  I  am  only  at  the  in- 
troit." 

Though  it  cost  him  dear  to  admit  strangers  into 
his  secret,  a  secret,  by  the  way,  to  no  one,  and  despite 
his  reluctance  to  commit  himself  into  the  hands  of 
lawyers,  the  marquis  had  reached  such  a  state  of 
perplexity  that  he  determined  to  take  the  advice 
of  a  celebrated  jurist  who  was  then  in  practice  at 
Poitiers,  where  he  passed  for  the  D'Aguesseau  of  the 
district.  M.  de  la  Seigliere  was  still  doubtful  of  the 
validity  of  the  claim  of  his  guest;  he  refused  to  be- 
lieve that  any  legislator,  even  if  he  were  Corsican, 
could  carry  his  iniquity  so  far  as  to  encourage  and 
legitimize  such  exorbitant  pretensions.  At  the  risk 

189 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglifere 

of  losing  his  last  hope,  he  one  day  summoned  to  his 
study  the  Poitevin  D'Aguesseau,  and  put  the  case 
plainly  before  him,  so  as  to  know  if  there  were  any 
honourable  way  of  getting  rid  of  Bernard,  or  at  any 
rate  of  forcing  him  into  some  compromise  that  would 
involve  neither  the  honour  nor  the  fortune  of  the 
La  Seiglieres.  This  celebrated  lawyer,  by  name  Des 
Tournelles,  was  a  shrewd  little  old  man,  a  wit  and 
a  scoffer,  of  good  status  in  the  aristocracy  of  law, 
and  therefore  setting  small  store  by  the  aristocracy 
of  the  sword;  bearing  no  love  to  the  La  Seiglieres 
in  particular,  since  they  from  time  immemorial  had 
treated  the  furred  gowns  and  caps  of  justice  as  the 
merest  bourgeoisie.  He  had  more  especially  laid  up 
the  memory  of  one  interview,  in  which  the  marquis 
had  treated  him  de  haut  en  bos,  an  insignificant  in- 
cident, dating  back  more  than  thirty  years — more 
than  thirty  years  forgotten  by  the  offender,  while 
it  still  rankled  in  the  breast  of  the  offended  party. 
M.  des  Tournelles  was  secretly  delighted  to  see  the 
marquis  in  such  a  tight  corner.  After  going  into  ' 
the  affair,  and  assuring  himself  by  the  actual  words 
of  the  act  of  donation  standing  between  old  Stamply 
and  his  former  master  that  the  rights  of  the  donee 
were  revoked  in  their  integrity  by  the  mere  fact  of 
the  existence  of  the  donor's  son,  he  took  a  malicious 
pleasure  in  pointing  out  to  the  marquis  that  not 
merely  did  the  law  afford  him  no  means  of  ejecting 

190 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Bernard,  but  that  it  even  authorized  the  latter  to 
put  him  and  his  daughter  literally  out  of  doors.  Nor 
did  the  old  fox  stop  there.  Under  the  guise  of  argu- 
ment, he  defended  the  principle  that  reinstated  Ber- 
nard in  his  father's  property;  he  developed  the  idea 
of  the  legislator;  he  maintained  that  in  this,  far  from 
being,  as  M.  de  la  Seigliere  affirmed,  iniquitous,  the 
law  was  but  just,  foreseeing,  wise,  and  maternal.  In 
vain  did  the  marquis  protest;  in  vain  did  he  accuse 
the  republic  of  exaction,  violence,  and  usurpation; 
in  vain  did  he  try  to  prove  that  he  held  his  estates, 
not  from  the  liberality,  but  from  the  probity,  of  his 
quondam  farmer;  in  vain  did  he  attempt  once  more 
to  escape  by  the  thousand-and-one  by-paths  that 
he  knew  so  well;  the  lawyer  pointed  out  to  him  po- 
litely that  in  appropriating  the  territorial  property 
of  the  emigres,  the  republic  had  only  exercised  a 
legitimate  right,  and  that  in  giving  him  back  the 
demesne  of  his  fathers,  his  former  tenant  had  only 
performed  an  act  of  munificent  generosity.  Under 
pretext  of  throwing  light  upon  the  question,  he  com- 
placently crushed  the  great  noble  with  the  generos- 
ity of  the  "  old  rogue."  Gifted  with  inexhaustible 
loquacity,  the  words  escaped  from  his  mouth  like 
a  flight  of  arrows  from  the  bow;  so  that  the  poor 
marquis,  riddled  with  stings,  like  a  man  who  runs 
his  head  into  a  swarm  of  bees,  perspired  freely,  and 
wriggled  in  his  chair,  cursing  the  unfortunate  in- 

191 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

spiration  that  had  made  him  send  for  this  exasper- 
ating chatterbox,  not  having  even  the  relief  of  get- 
ting in  a  passion,  since  the  executioner  conducted 
himself  with  graceful  courtesy  and  dexterity.  At 
one  moment,  pushed  to  extremity,  he  cried: 

"  Enough,  sir,  enough.  Vcntre-saint-gris!  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  are  abusing  your  erudition  and  your 
eloquence.  I  am  quite  sufficiently  instructed,  and 
do  not  wish  to  hear  more." 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  replied  the  wicked  old  man 
severely,  for  the  game  amused  him,  and  he  did  not 
intend  to  give  it  up  till  he  had  gorged  himself 
with  the  blood  of  his  victim,  "  I  am  here  as  the 
physician  of  your  fortune  and  your  honour;  I  should 
think  myself  unworthy  of  the  confidence  you  have 
reposed  in  me  to-day  if  I  did  not  respond  to  it  with 
entire  frankness.  The  case  is  grave;  it  is  not  by 
reservations  on  your  part,  by  mincing  matters  on 
mine,  that  you  can  hope  to  escape  from  it." 

These  last  words  fell  like  a  kindly  dew  upon  the 
ulcerated  heart  of  the  marquis. 

"  Then,  sir,"  he  asked  with  a  resigned  and  hesi- 
tating air,  "  the  matter  is  not  yet  irretrievable?  " 

"  Surely  not."  replied  the  wily  Des  Tournelles. 
"  provided  only  that  you  resign  yourself  to  hear  all 
and  to  confess  all.  I  repeat,  M.  le  Marquis,  that 
you  must  see  in  me  only  the  physician  who  has  come 
to  study  your  disease,  to  attempt  to  cure  it." 

IQ2 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Softened  by  fear,  enticed  by  hope,  encouraged 
by  the  apparent  benevolence  under  which  the  old 
reptile  hid  his  perfidious  designs,  the  marquis 
launched  out  into  exaggerated  confidences.  Keep- 
ing to  the  comparison  of  the  jurist,  it  happened  to 
him  as  it  happens  to  persons  who,  after  passing  their 
lives  in  railing  at  doctors,  throw  themselves  precipi- 
tately into  the  physician's  arms  directty  they  fancy 
that  they  feel  the  icy  breath  of  death  upon  their 
pillow.  Apart  from  a  few  details  which  he  thought 
it  better  to  omit,  he  told  the  entire  story,  his  own 
return,  the  arrival  of  Bernard,  the  way  the  young 
man  had  been  installed  in  the  chateau.  Incited  by 
the  malice  of  Des  Tournelles,  who  interrupted  him 
every  now  and  then  by  exclaiming:  "  Good!  very 
good!  This  is  less  serious  than  I  at  first  imagined. 
Courage,  M.  le  Marquis,  it  will  be  all  right,  we 
shall  get  out  of  it  " — he  exposed  the  whole  of  his 
position,  and  literally  unclothed  it;  while,  with  his 
chin  resting  on  the  hook  of  his  cane,  the  old  repro- 
bate choked  with  joy  at  the  sight  of  the  haughty 
nobleman  detailing  all  his  infirmities  and  shameless- 
ly exposing  the  sores  of  his  pride  and  egoism.  When 
he  had  got  to  the  end  of  his  confidences,  M.  des 
Tournelles  assumed  a  solicitous  air  and  shook  his 
head  gravely. 

"It  is  serious,"  he  said,  "very  serious;  more  so 
than  I  thought  an  hour  ago.  M.  le  Marquis,  it 

193 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

would  not  be  right  to  hide  from  you  that  you  art 
in  the  most  ticklish  position  a  gentleman  ever  found 
himself  in  any  age  or  country.  You  are  no  longer 
at  home  here.  It  is  not  you  who  are  putting  up 
with  Bernard,  it  is  he  who  is  putting  up  with  you. 
You  are  at  his  mercy,  you  are  dependent  on  his 
caprice.  Any  day  this  boy  may  tell  you  to  walk  off. 
It  is  bad,  very  bad,  very  bad  indeed." 

"  But,  pardieu!  I  know  quite  well  that  it  is  bad," 
cried  the  marquis  angrily ;  "  if  you  tell  me  that  a 
hundred  times,  you  tell  me  nothing  new." 

"  I  am  not  unaware,"  pursued  M.  des  Tournelles 
smoothly,  without  heeding  the  interruptions  of  the 
marquis,  "  I  am  far  from  unaware,  that  it  is  greatly 
to  the  interest  of  this  young  man  to  keep  you  under 
his  roof,  you  and  your  charming  daughter;  I  know 
that  he  would  have  difficulty  in  finding  guests  who 
were  equally  distinguished,  and  reflected  so  much 
honour  upon  him.  I  will  go  further;  I  will  say  that 
it  is  his  duty  to  try  to  keep  you.  I  hold  that  filial 
piety  bids  him  imperiously  connect  you  with  his  for- 
tunes. You  were  so  good  to  his  father!  They  say 
with  justice  that  he  enriched  himself  in  despoiling 
himself,  since  you  surrounded  him  in  his  last  days 
with  so  much  attention,  such  care,  such  tenderness 
and  consideration.  Affecting  sight!  It  is  a  fine 
thing  to  see  the  hand  that  gives  outdone  in  generos- 
ity by  the  hand  that  takes  Although  I  have  not 

194 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  pleasure  of  knowing  M.  Bernard,  I  do  not  doubt 
his  pious  intentions  up  to  the  present  time;  every- 
thing about  him  indicates  a  noble  heart,  an  elevated 
mind,  a  grateful  soul.  But,  besides  the  fact  that  it 
does  not  beseem  a  La  Seigliere  to  accept  humiliating 
conditions,  life  is  strewn  with  obstacles  against  which 
the  purest  and  most  honourable  intentions  must  in- 
evitably run  up  sooner  or  later.  Bernard  is  young, 
he  will  marry,  he  will  have  children.  M.  le  Marquis, 
I  owe  you  the  truth.  The  situation  is  as  serious 
as  it  possibly  can  be." 

"  But,  devil  take  it,  sir,"  cried  M.  de  la  Seigliere, 
who  felt  his  blood  mounting  up  to  his  ears,  "  I  did 
not  send  for  you  to  calculate  the  depth  of  the  abyss 
into  which  I  have  fallen,  but  to  show  me  a  way  of 
getting  out  of  it.  Begin  by  getting  me  out;  you 
can  plumb  it  afterward." 

"  Gently,  sir,  gently,"  replied  M.  des  Tournelles; 
"  before  I  can  give  you  a  ladder,  it  is  as  well  to 
know  how  long  you  want  it  to  be.  M.  le  Marquis, 
the  gulf  is  profound.  What  a  gulf!  If  you  ever  re- 
turn from  it,  you  may  congratulate  yourself,  like 
Theseus,  on  having  seen  strange  shores.  And  what 
a  history  yours  is,  sir!  what  rare  games  of  chance! 
what  strange  vicissitudes!  The  Marquis  de  la  Sei- 
gliere, one  of  the  grandest  names  in  history,  one 
of  the  premier  nobles  of  France,  recalled  from  exile 
by  one  of  his  old  servants!  The  worthy  man  strip- 

195 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ping  himself  to  enrich  his  former  master!  The  son, 
who  was  thought  dead,  returning  one  fine  morn- 
ing to  claim  his  inheritance!  It  is  a  perfect  drama, 
it  is  a  romance;  we  have  nothing  of  greater  in- 
terest in  all  our  judicial  annals.  You  will  admit, 
M.  le  Marquis,  that  you  were  most  surprised  when 
this  young  soldier,  who  was  killed  at  the  battle 
of  Moskowa,  presented  himself  before  you.  Even 
if  his  return  has  caused  some  disturbance  in  your 
life,  I  will  wager  that  it  was  not  unpleasant  to  you 
to  see  the  son  of  your  benefactor  alive  and  well." 

"  Have  done,  sir,  have  done,"  roared  the  marquis, 
on  the  point  of  exploding,  and  redder  than  any  tur- 
key-cock. "  Do  you  know  any  way  of  extricating 
me  from  all  this?  " 

"  Vertudieu,  M.  le  Marquis! "  cried  the  merciless 
old  lawyer;  "  we  must  set  to  work  and  find  one. 
You  cannot  be  left  in  this  state  of  helpless  embar- 
rassment. It  must  not  be  said  that  a  Marquis  de 
la  Seigliere  and  his  daughter  are  living  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  son  of  their  quondam  farmer,  exposed 
day  by  day  to  the  chance  of  being  turned  out  in 
disgrace,  like  lodgers  who  have  not  paid  their  rent. 
That  must  not,  shall  not  be." 

With  these  words  M.  des  Tournelles  appeared 
to  fall  into  deep  meditation.  He  remained  for  quite 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  tracing  the  pattern  of  the  par- 
quet with  the  end  of  his  cane,  or  studying  the  mould- 

196 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ings  of  the  ceiling  with  his  nose  in  the  air,  the  mar- 
quis meantime  watching  him  with  an  anxiety  impos- 
sible to  describe  but  easy  to  understand — trying 
to  read  his  fate  from  the  countenance  of  the  old 
knave,  and  passing  alternately  from  discouragement 
to  hope,  according  as  the  perfidious  Des  Tournelles 
assumed  a  conscious  or  a  smiling  expression. 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  he  said  at  length,  "  the  law 
is  explicit;  the  rights  of  Stamply's  son  are  incon- 
testable. And  yet,  since  there  is  nothing  in  law  that 
cannot  be  disputed,  I  have  the  conviction  that  you 
might  with  much  guile  and  skill  succeed  in  dissuad- 
ing young  Stamply  from  his  claims.  But  here's  the 
rub:  for  that  you  must  needs  resort  to  the  subtleties 
of  the  law,  and  you,  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,  would 
never  consent  to  engage  in  these  subterfuges  and 
quibbles." 

"  Never,  sir,  never! "  replied  the  marquis  firmly. 
"  I  would  sooner  throw  myself  out  of  the  window 
than  wipe  up  the  dirt  on  the  staircase." 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,"  pursued  M.  des  Tournelles. 
"Your  ideas  are  too  chivalrous  for  me  to  attempt 
to  dispute  them.  Allow  me,  however,  just  to  remind 
you  that  the  estates  of  your  ancestors,  a  million  of 
property,  the  future  of  your  daughter,  and  the  des- 
tiny of  your  race  are  all  involved  in  the  question. 
All  that  requires  a  little  consideration.  I  am  not 
speaking  of  you,  M.  le  Marquis.  You  have  the  most 

197 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

disinterested  heart  that  ever  beat  in  human  breast; 
ruin  frightens  you  less  than  a  spot  upon  your 
scutcheon.  You  are  not  afraid  of  poverty;  if  need 
be,  you  could  exist  on  roots  and  fresh  water.  All 
that  is  noble,  grand,  heroic!  I  can  already  see  you 
stepping  out  again  on  the  road  to  poverty.  This 
picture  moves  my  heart  and  excites  my  imagination, 
for  it  has  been  rightly  said  that  the  most  magnificent 
spectacle  one  can  see  is  the  struggle  of  a  man  who 
is  overtaken  by  adversity.  But  your  daughter,  sir, 
your  daughter;  for  you  are  a  father,  M.  le  Marquis. 
If  you  are  pleased  to  adopt  the  role  of  CEdipus,  why 
should  you  impose  on  this  amiable  child  the  task 
of  Antigone?  What,  I  say,  pitiless  as  Agamemnon, 
would  you  sacrifice  her,  a  new  Iphigenia,  upon  the 
altar  of  pride  to  the  egoism  of  your  honour?  I  can 
well  imagine  that  you  shrink  from  dragging  your 
name  before  the  tribunals,  from  tricking  justice  into 
the  recognition  of  your  rights.  Still,  think  of  it — 
a  million's  worth  of  property!  M.  le  Marquis,  you 
are  in  your  place  here;  this  hereditary  luxury  suits 
you  to  perfection,  and  fits  you  like  a  glove.  And 
then,  see,  is  it,  honestly  speaking,  any  more  dis- 
graceful to  strike  your  enemy  by  default  of  law  than 
it  formerly  was  among  knights  to  aim,  lance  in  hand, 
at  the  joints  of  the  visor  and  the  weak  points  of  the 
cuirass?  " 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  marquis  after  a  few  mo- 
198 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ments'  silent  hesitation,  "  if  you  think  you  can  an- 
swer for  my  success,  I  will,  from  devotion  to  the 
interests  of  my  dear  and  well-beloved  daughter,  re- 
sign myself  to  empty  the  dregs  of  this  cup  of  hu- 
miliation." 

"  Triumph  of  paternal  love! "  cried  M.  des  Tour- 
nelles.  "  Then,  it  is  agreed,  we  will  go  to  law.  The 
•only  point  remaining  is  to  see  by  what  subtleties 
we  can  legally  defraud  the  son  of  the  worthy  man 
who  handed  all  his  property  over  to  you  of  his  le- 
gitimate claim." 

"  Ventre-saint-gris!  Sir,  let  us  understand  each 
other,"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  growing  at  once 
red  and  white  with  anger.  "  That  is  not  what  I  am 
asking.  I  believe  it  to  be  my  duty  to  transmit  the 
estates  of  her  ancestors  intact  to  my  daughter,  but, 
vive  Dieu!  I  do  not  want  to  despoil  this  young  man. 
I  will  provide  for  him;  I  will  spare  no  pains  to  assure 
him  of  an  honourable  and  easy  existence." 

"  Ah,  noble,  noble  heart! "  said  M.  des  Tournelles 
with  an  emotion  so  admirably  feigned  that  M.  de  la 
Seigliere  himself  was  quite  moved  by  it.  "  And  these 
are  the  great  nobles  who  are  accused  of  egoism  and 
Ingratitude!  Well,  then,  since  you  insist  on  it,  we 
will  do  something  for  the  hussar.  Besides,  we  will 
state  our  intentions  in  full  court.  If  only  our  lawyer 
understands  his  game,  that  ought  to  make  a  good 
effect  on  the  judges." 

io— VoL  7  199 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

With  these  words  M.  des  Tournelles,  having  de- 
sired a  few  minutes'  reflection,  in  order,  as  he  said, 
to  find  the  flaw  in  the  act,  appeared  to  lose  himself 
once  more  in  profound  meditation.  At  the  end  of 
ten  minutes  he  came  to  himself,  radiant,  with  a  beam- 
ing countenance,  and  a  smile  upon  his  lips;  seeing 
which,  M.  de  la  Seigliere  felt  all  the  joy  of  a  man 
who,  after  being  sentenced  to  death,  hears  himself 
condemned  to  penal  servitude  for  life. 

"  Well,  sir?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  M.  le  Marquis,"  replied  M.  des  Tour- 
nelles, suddenly  assuming  an  air  of  pity  and  con- 
sternation, "  you  are  lost,  lost  beyond  resource,  lost 
beyond  hope.  When  all  is  considered,  weighed,  cal- 
culated, to  go  to  law  would  be  a  blunder;  you  would 
compromise  your  reputation  without  saving  your 
fortune.  I  could  undertake  to  get  over  the  law  and 
deliver  you  from  the  bearing  of  Article  960  of  the 
chapter  on  Donations — with  the  Code  one  can  al- 
ways arrange  something.  Unfortunately,  the  terms 
of  the  act  that  reinstated  you  in  your  fortune  are 
too  clear,  too  precise,  and  too  explicit  for  it  to  be 
possible,  with  the  best  will  in  the  world,  to  alter  and 
contravene  its  meaning;  an  advocate  would  merely 
waste  his  time  and  trouble.  Old  Stamply  only  gave 
you  his  fortune  in  the  conviction  that  his  son  was 
dead.  The  son  is  alive,  so  the  father  has  made  you 
a  gift  of  nothing.  Get  out  of  that  if  you  can.  But 

200 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

I  should  like  to  know,"  he  cried  triumphantly,  "  why 
we  are  amusing  ourselves,  both  you  and  I,  in  seeking 
such  remote  and  disastrous  possibilities,  when  there 
is  another  means  close  by,  under  our  hand,  as  hon- 
ourable as  it  would  be  infallible.  However  little  you 
may  know  your  comic  authors,  you  will  doubtless 
have  remarked  that  all  the  comedies  end  in  a  mar- 
riage— so  much  so  that  it  seems  as  if  marriage  had 
been  specially  instituted  for  the  pleasure  and  satis- 
faction of  the  poets.  Marriage,  M.  le  Marquis! 
There  is  the  great  solvent,  that  is  the  deus  ex  machind, 
the  sword  of  Alexander  cutting  the  Gordian  knot. 
Look  at  McJere;  look  at  Regnard;  look  at  them 
all.  How  could  they  get  out  of  their  inventions  if 
they  did  not  do  it  by  a  marriage?  In  every  comedy, 
what  reconciles  the  divided  families?  what  terminates 
the  divisions?  what  closes  the  lawsuits,  extinguishes 
the  feuds,  puts  an  end  to  the  love-making?  Mar- 
riage, always  a  marriage.  Well,  vertudieu!  if  it  be 
true  that  the  theatre  is  the  picture  and  expression 
of  real  life,  what  is  to  prevent  us  also  from  ending 
with  a  marriage?  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  is  young; 
they  tell  me  she  is  charming.  On  his  side,  M.  Ber- 
nard is  young  also,  and  they  say  passably  good-look- 
ing. Well,  then,  marry  the  two  young  people.  Mo- 
liere  himself  could  not  have  invented  any  better  con- 
clusion to  the  adventure." 

At  these  words,  and  notwithstanding  the  gravity 
20 1 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

of  the  situation,  the  marquis  was  seized  with  such  a 
mad  fit  of  laughter  that  he  held  his  sides  for  nearly 
five  minutes,  twisting  in  his  arm-chair  and  laughing 
loudly. 

"  Pardieu,  sir!  "  he  cried  at  last,  "  since  you  have 
kept  me  on  tenter-hooks  for  two  hours,  you  owe  me 
this  little  reparation.  Say  that  again,  I  beg." 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  repeat  to  you,  M.  le  Mar- 
quis," resumed  the  spiteful  old  man,  with  imper- 
turbable coolness,  "  that  the  only  means  of  concili- 
ating your  reputation  and  your  interests  in  this 
affair  would  be  to  offer  your  daughter  in  marriage 
to  the  son  of  your  quondam  farmer." 

This  time  the  marquis  could  not  contain  him- 
self. He  fell  back  on  his  chair,  got  up,  walked  twice 
round  the  room,  and  sat  down  again,  in  convulsions 
of  hysterical  laughter.  When  he  had  calmed  down 
a  little — 

"  Sir,"  he  cried,  "  they  told  me  you  were  a  clever 
man,  but  I  was  far  from  suspecting  this  genius  in 
you.  Ventre-saint-gris!  you  do  know  how  to  set 
about  it.  What  a  prompt  appreciation  of  the  situ- 
ation! What  a  talent  for  arranging  matters!  You 
must  have  been  sent  to  school  very  young  to  have 
reached  this  point  in  learning  and  erudition  already. 
Your  father  was  doubtless  a  lawyer.  You  would 
have  given  points  to  Bartole;  Maitre  Cujas  would 
not  have  been  worthy  to  tie  the  bow-knot  of  your 

202 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

queue.  Vive  Dieu,  what  depths  of  science!  Mme. 
des  Tournelles  must  carry  her  head  high  when  you 
are  out  walking  at  Blossac  on  a  Sunday.  My  legal 
friend,"  he  continued,  suddenly  changing  his  tone, 
"  you  have  forgotten  that  I  sent  for  you  to  ask  for 
counsel,  not  as  a  confidant." 

" Mon  Dieu,  M.  le  Marquis!"  returned  M.  des 
Tournelles  calmly.  "  I  well  understand  that  such 
a  proposal  ruffles  your  patrician  instincts.  I  can  put 
myself  in  your  place;  I  understand  your  repugnance; 
I  accept  your  objections.  And  yet,  if  you  will  con- 
descend to  think  about  it,  you  will  understand  in 
your  turn  that  there  are  necessities  to  which  even 
the  most  legitimate  pride  is  sometimes  obliged  to 
bow." 

"  Say  no  more,  sir,"  interrupted  the  marquis  in 
a  severe  voice  that  admitted  of  no  reply,  but  the  old 
fox  went  on  unconcernedly. 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  he  resumed  firmly,  "  the  sin- 
cere interest,  the  lively  sympathy  with  which  your 
position  inspires  me,  the  respectful  attachment  I  have 
always  felt  to  your  illustrious  family,  the  well-known 
frankness  and  honesty  of  my  character,  all  make  it  my 
duty  to  persist.  I  should  persist,  even  if,  as  the  price 
of  my  devotion,  I  had  to  incur  your  anger  or  your 
raillery.  Supposing  one  day  you  lost  your  footing  and 
fell  into  the  Clain.  Would  it  not  be  criminal  before 
God  and  man  if  some  one,  who  might  save  you,  did 

203 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

not  hold  out  a  helping  hand?  Well,  you  have  fallen 
into  a  gulf  a  hundred  times  deeper  than  the  bed  of 
our  river,  and  I  should  feel  that  I  was  utterly  failing 
in  my  duty  if  I  did  not,  at  the  risk  of  wounding  you 
and  hurting  you,  employ  all  the  means  humanly  pos- 
sible to  try  and  snatch  you  from  it." 

"  Tut,  my  good  sir! "  exclaimed  the  marquis. 
"  If  people  want  to  drown  themselves,  let  them  do 
it  in  peace.  It  is  better  to  drown  one's  self  in  pure, 
clean  water  than  to  live  in  dishonour,  clinging  on 
by  shame." 

"  Your  sentiments  do  you  honour;  I  recognise  In 
them  the  worthy  heir  of  a  gallant  race.  I  only  fear 
that  you  may  be  exaggerating  the  dangers  of  a 
mesalliance.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  one  must  admit 
that  one's  ideas  on  that  subject  have  been  profound- 
ly modified.  M.  le  Marquis,  the  times  are  hard. 
Although  it  has  been  reinstated,  the  aristocracy  is 
declining;  under  the  factitious  brilliance  that  has 
lately  been  restored  to  it,  it  already  exhibits  the 
aspect  of  a  star  that  is  on  the  wane.  I  feel  con- 
vinced that  it  can  only  recover  its  ancient  prestige 
bf  renewing  its  forces  in  the  democracy,  which  is 
breaking  in  on  all  sides.  I  have  deliberately  con- 
sidered our  future — for  I  too  am  a  gentleman — and 
to  show  you  the  extent  to  which  I  am  penetrated 
with  the  necessity  of  allying  ourselves  with  the  rab- 
ble, I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  the  necessity  of 

204 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

marrying  my  daughter  to  an  usher.  What  would 
you  have?  The  aristocracy  of  to-day  is  like  those 
precious  metals  that  can  only  solidify  in  combining 
with  a  grain  of  alloy.  In  our  day,  a  mesalliance  is 
simply  a  lightning-conductor.  To  condescend  to  it 
is  to  provide  one's  self  with  a  prop,  to  be  prepared 
for  the  tempest.  At  the  present  time  a  very  curious 
see-saw  is  going  on.  In  twenty  years  the  bourgeois 
gentleman  will  have  replaced  the  gentlemanly  bour- 
geois. Would  you  know  the  whole  of  my  thought, 
M.  le  Marquis?  " 

"  I  am  not  particularly  interested,"  said  the  mar- 
quis. 

"Still  I  will  tell  it  you,"  continued  the  little 
wretch  with  assurance.  "  Thanks  to  your  great 
name,  your  great  fortune,  your  great  mind,  and  your 
grand  manners,  you  are  naturally  little  beloved  in 
the  country.  You  have  enemies;  what  superior  man 
is  without  them?  One  would  pity  the  being  who  was 
so  much  an  alien  in  earth  and  heaven  that  he  had 
not  two  or  three.  According  to  this  reckoning, 
you  have  plenty;  why  should  it  be  otherwise?  You 
are  not  popular;  the  reason  is  plain,  since  popularity 
in  every  instance  is  the  stamp  of  folly  and  the  crown 
of  mediocrity.  In  short,  you  have  the  honour  of 
being  hated." 

"Sir!" 

"A  truce  to  modesty  I  You  are  hated.  You 
205 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

serve  as  a  target  to  the  bullets  of  a  crafty  party  which 
is  growing  in  audacity  every  day,  and  threatens  to 
become  the  majority  in  the  nation.  I  would  not 
for  worlds  repeat  to  you  the  base  calumnies  which 
this  party,  who  are  neither  loyal  nor  law-abiding, 
are  never  tired  of  spreading  like  venom  against  your 
noble  life.  I  know  too  well  the  respect  you  are  en- 
titled to  ever  to  consent  to  make  myself  the  echo 
of  these  cowardly  and  evil  propositions.  You  are 
loudly  blamed  for  having  deserted  the  country  at  a 
moment  when  the  country  was  in  danger;  you  arc 
accused  of  having  carried  arms  against  France." 

"  Sir,"  protested  M.  de  la  Seigliere  with  virtuous 
indignation,  "  I  have  never  carried  arms  against  any 
one." 

"  I  believe  you,  M.  le  Marquis — I  am  sure  of  it; 
all  honest  people  are  as  convinced  of  it  as  I  am  my- 
self. Unhappily,  the  Liberals  respect  no  one,  and 
honest  men  are  rare.  They  delight  in  pointing  you 
out  as  an  enemy  of  the  public  liberty;  the  rumour 
is  being  spread  that  you  detest  the  Charter;  it  is  in- 
sinuated that  you  intend  to  re-establish  the  tithe 
the  corvee,  and  other  seigneurial  rights  in  your  do- 
minions. They  declare  that  you  have  written  to  his 
Majesty  Louis  XVIII  to  advise  him  to  enter  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  booted,  spurred,  whip  in  hand, 
as  Louis  XIV  entered  his  Parliament.  They  affirm 
that  you  celebrate  year  by  year  the  anniversary  of  the 

206 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

battle  of  Waterloo.  They  suspect  you  of  being  affili- 
ated to  the  congregation  of  the  Jesuits.  They  even 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that  you  openly  insult  the  glory 
of  our  armies  by  attaching  a  tricolour  rosette  to  your 
horse's  tail  of  a  morning.  Nor  is  this  all,  for  calumny 
would  never  draw  rein  in  such  a  fine  career;  they 
pretend  that  old  Stamply  was  the  victim  of  un- 
worthy intrigues,  and  that,  as  the  reward  of  his 
benefits,  you  let  him  die  of  sorrow.  I  do  not  wish 
to  alarm  you,  and  yet  I  must  confess  that,  as  things 
are  now,  if  a  second  revolution  were  to  break  out — 
and  God  alone  knows  what  the  future  has  in  store 
for  us — you  would  again  have  to  fly  in  haste,  for, 
if  not,  M.  le  Marquis,  I  will  not  be  answerable  for 
your  head." 

"But,  sir,  I  tell  you  that  all  this  is  infamous!" 
cried  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  exasperated  by  the  words 
of  the  wicked  old  mischief-maker.  "  Your  Liberals 
are  atrocious  scoundrels.  I  the  enemy  of  public  lib- 
erty! I  adore  the  public  liberty.  And  how  am  I 
to  set  about  hating  the  Charter?  I  do  not  even 
know  it.  Jesuits,  indeed!  But,  ventre-saint-gris,  I 
have  never  seen  the  tail  of  one.  The  same  with  all 
the  rest.  I  should  disdain  to  reply  to  such  low  accu- 
sations. As  to  a  second  revolution,"  added  the  mar- 
quis gaily,  like  any  fool  that  cackles  to  reassure  him- 
self, "  I  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  joking." 

"  Vertudieu,  sir,  I  am  not  joking  at  all! "  replied 
207 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

M.  des  Tournelles  sharply.  "  The  future  is  big  with 
tempests;  the  sky  is  charged  with  livid  clouds;  polit- 
ical passions  are  in  the  air;  the  ground  is  mined  be- 
neath our  feet.  In  very  truth,  T  say,  if  you  do  not 
want  to  be  surprised  by  the  hurricane,  -vatch,  watch 
ceaselessly;  listen  to  every  rumour;  be  on  your  guard 
night  and  day;  give  yourself  neither  rest,  nor  truce, 
nor  respite,  and  have  your  trunks  ready,  so  that  you 
need  only  strap  them  up  at  the  first  clap  of  thunder 
that  tumbles  on  the  horizon." 

M.  de  la  Seigliere  grew  pale,  and  looked  at  M. 
des  Tournelles  in  terror.  After  rejoicing  for  a  few 
moments  at  the  fright  he  had  given  the  unfortunate 
gentleman,  the  tormentor  resumed: 

"  Do  you  now,  M.  le  Marquis,  perceive  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  mesalliance?  Do  you  begin  to  see  that 
this  marriage  between  the  son  of  Stamply  and  Mile, 
de  la  Seigliere  would  be,  on  your  part,  a  highly 
politic  and  significant  act?  Do  you  understand  that 
in  bringing  it  about,  you  change  the  face  of  events? 
You  are  suspected  of  hating  the  people:  you  give 
your  daughter  to  the  son  of  a  peasant.  You  are  de- 
nounced as  an  enemy  of  our  youthful  glory:  you 
adopt  a  child  of  the  Empire.  You  are  accused  of 
ingratitude:  you  mingle  your  blood  with  that  of 
your  benefactor.  Thus  you  would  confound  cal- 
umny, disarm  envy,  rally  public  opinion  round  you, 
create  alliances  in  the  party  that  plots  your  down- 

208 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

fall,  secure  your  head  and  your  fortune  against  the 
thunderbolt;  finally,  you  would  consummate  your 
old  age  in  the  midst  of  luxury  and  opulence — happy, 
tranquil,  honoured,  sheltered  from  revolutions." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  marquis  with  dignity,  "  if  it  were 
necessary,  both  my  daughter  and  myself  could  mount 
the  scaffold.  They  may  shed  our  blood;  they  shall 
not  sully  it  while  it  flows  in  our  veins.  We  are 
ready;  the  aristocracy  of  France  has  proved,  thank 
God,  that  it  knows  how  to  die." 

"  To  die  is  nothing,  to  live  is  less  easy.  If  the 
scaffold  were  erected  at  your  door,  I  would  take  you 
by  the  hand  and  say,  '  Mount  up  to  heaven.'  But 
between  this  and  that,  M.  le  Marquis,  think  of  the 
evil  days  to  come.  Think " 

"  Not  another  word,  I  beg,"  said  M.  de  la  Sei- 
gliere, drawing  from  the  pocket  of  his  black  satin 
breeches  a  little  netted  purse,  which  he  slipped  fur- 
tively into  M.  des  Tournelles's  fingers.  "  You  have 
amused  me  enormously,"  added  the  marquis;  "  I  had 
not  laughed  so  heartily  for  a  very  long  time." 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  replied  M.  des  Tournelles,  let- 
ting the  purse  drop  carelessly  to  the  ground,  "  I  am 
sufficiently  rewarded  by  the  honour  you  have  done 
me  in  judging  me  worthy  of  your  confidence;  if,  in 
addition,  I  have  succeeded  in  making  you  laugh  in 
your  present  situation,  it  is  my  greatest  triumph;  I 
remain  your  obliged  servant.  At  any  time  when  it 

209 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

pleases  you  to  have  recourse  to  my  poor  inspiration, 
I  will  come  at  a  word  from  you,  too  happy  if,  as 
to-day,  I  can  infuse  into  your  mind  some  confidence 
and  serenity." 

"  You  are  a  thousand  times  too  good." 

"  Come,  come.  You  may  no  longer  be  at  home 
here;  you  may  in  future  own  neither  chateau,  park, 
forests,  nor  demesne,  nor  even  a  corner  of  ground 
on  which  to  set  up  your  tent;  to  me  you  will  still 
be  always  the  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,  greater  in 
misfortune  than  you  ever  were  at  the  climax  of  your 
prosperity.  I  am  made  that  way:  misfortune  attracts 
me,  adversity  draws  me.  If  my  political  opinions 
had  permitted,  I  should  have  accompanied  Napoleon 
to  St.  Helena.  Pray  believe  that  my  devotion  and 
my  respect  will  follow  you  everywhere,  and  that  you 
will  find  in  me  a  faithful  courtier  of  misfortune." 

"  And  on  your  side,  sir,  rest  assured  that  your 
respect  and  your  devotion  will  be  a  precious  help  to 
me,  and  a  welcome  consolation,"  replied  the  marquis, 
pulling  the  bell-cord. 

M.  des  Tournelles  had  risen.  On  the  point  of 
leaving  he  stopped,  cast  a  complacent  glance  around 
him,  and  took  in  every  detail  of  the  luxurious  room 
in  which  he  was  standing. 

"  Charming  abode,  enchanted  retreat !  "  he  mur- 
mured, as  though  speaking  to  himself.  "  Aubusson 
carpet,  Genoa  damask,  Dresden  china,  Boule  furni- 

210 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ture,  Bohemian  glass,  priceless  pictures,  objects  of 
art,  delightful  caprices.  M.  le  Marquis,  you  are  in- 
stalled here  like  a  king.  And  this  park!  it  is  a  for- 
est," he  added,  approaching  the  window.  "  In  the 
spring-time,  you  must  be  able  to  hear  the  night- 
ingale singing  in  the  evening  from  your  own  fire- 
side." 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  salon  opened; 
a  lackey  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

"  Jasmin,"  said  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  touching  with 
his  foot  the  purse,  that  was  still  lying  on  the  carpet, 
showing  the  yellow  metal  glittering  through  its 
meshes  like  the  scales  of  some  golden  fish,  "  pick 
that  up;  it  is  a  present  to  you  from  M.  des  Tour- 
nelles.  Farewell,  M.  des  Tournelles,  farewell.  My 
compliments  to  your  wife.  Jasmin,  show  monsieur 
out;  you  owe  him  some  politeness." 

Whereupon  he  turned  his  back  without  more  ado, 
disappeared  behind  the  double  curtain  in  the  bay 
of  the  window,  and  leaned  his  forehead  on  the  glass. 
He  believed  Des  Tournelles  to  be  already  out  of  the 
chateau  when  the  detestable  old  man,  who  had 
slipped  in  again  like  a  viper,  stood  up  on  tip-toe  and, 
with  his  mouth  to  the  marquis's  ear,  whispered  in  a 
mysterious  voice,  "  M.  le  Marquis " 

"  What!  "  cried  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  turning  sharp- 
ly.  "  Are  you  still  here,  sir?  " 

"One  last  word  of  advice;  it  is  good,  the  case 

211 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

is  serious:  if  you  want  to  save  yourself,  marry  your 
daughter  to  Bernard." 

Whereupon,  sent  by  the  marquis  to  all  the  devils, 
M.  des  Tournelles  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  off, 
followed  by  the  obsequious  Jasmin,  his  cane  under 
his  arm,  smiling,  and  rubbing  his  hands,  as  happy  as 
a  polecat  slinking  out  of  a  hen-house  licking  its  chops 
and  drunk  with  carnage. 

Thus,  while  affecting  not  to  touch  the  wounds 
of  his  victim,  or  to  touch  only  in  order  to  heal,  M. 
des  Tournelles  had  but  envenomed  and  exposed  his 
sores;  and  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  who  had  previously 
felt  very  sick,  was  now  convinced  that  his  malady 
was  mortal,  and  that  he  could  not  recover  from  it. 
Such  was  the  fine  result  of  this  memorable  consulta- 
tion: a  marquis  was  drowning;  a  lawyer  passing  by 
assured  him  that  he  was  lost,  and  tied  a  stone  round 
his  neck,  after  dragging  him  for  two  hours  through 
the  mud,  on  pretext  of  saving  him. 

Now,  the  marquis  was  not  the  only  soul  in  tor- 
ment in  the  valley  of  the  Clain.  Not  to  speak  of 
Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  was  not  precisely  reassured 
as  to  the  success  of  her  undertaking,  Helene  and 
Bernard  had,  respectively,  lost  all  their  peace  and 
serenity.  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  had  already  long  been 
investigating  her  state  of  mind  with  uneasiness. 
Why  had  she  not  dared  allude  to  the  presence  of 
Bernard  in  any  of  her  letters  to  M.  de  Vaubert? 

212 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Doubtless  she  had  been  afraid  of  ridicule  from  the 
young  baron,  who  had  never  been  able  to  tolerate 
old  Stamply.  But  why  had  she  never  dared  tell  Ber- 
nard, when  the  young  baron  was  mentioned,  of  her 
approaching  marriage  with  him?  Sometimes  she 
seemed  to  herself  to  be  deceiving  them  both. 
Whence  came  this  vague  terror  or  dull  indifference 
that  she  had  for  some  time  felt  at  the  prospect  of 
Raoul's  return?  Why  should  his  letters,  which  at 
first  amused  if  they  did  not  charm  her,  oppress  her 
now  with  profound  and  mortal  ennui  ?  Finally, 
whence  came  the  feeling  of  lassitude  that  over- 
whelmed her  each  time  she  had  to  reply  to  them? 
Her  brain  reeled  at  all  these  questions.  It  was  not 
merely  what  was  passing  within  herself  that  alarmed 
her;  she  understood  instinctively  that  something 
equivocal  and  mysterious  was  going  on  around  her. 
Her  father's  melancholy,  Raoul's  sudden  departure, 
his  prolonged  absence,  the  baronne's  attitude,  all 
alarmed  this  timid  creature  whom  a  breath  would 
have  blown  away.  The  brilliancy  of  her  complexion 
was  dimmed;  her  fine  eyes  showed  dark  circles;  her 
amiable  temper  was  altered.  As  an  explanation  of 
the  trouble  and  uneasiness  which  she  felt  in  Ber- 
nard's presence,  she  forced  herself  to  hate  him;  she 
recognised  that  it  was  since  the  arrival  of  this  stran- 
ger that  she  had  lost  the  calm  and  limpidity  of  her 
girlhood;  she  accused  him  in  her  heart  of  too  humble 

213 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

an  acceptance  of  the  hospitality  of  a  family  whom 
his  father  had  plundered;  she  told  herself  that  he 
might  have  found  some  more  noble  employment  for 
his  youth  and  courage;  she  regretted  not  to  see  in 
him  more  pride  and  dignity.  Then,  rallying  all  her 
strength  and  courage  round  M.  de  Vaubert,  taking 
thus  her  conscience  for  love  and  her  love  for  hate, 
she  drew  back  little  by  little  from  Bernard,  gave  up 
her  walks  in  the  park,  appeared  no  more  in  the  salon, 
and  lived  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room.  Thrown 
on  the  intimacy  of  the  marquis  and  the  baronne,  now 
that  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  was  no  longer  there  to 
conceal  by  her  candour,  innocence,  and  beauty  the 
tricks  and  intrigues  of  which  he  had  been  the  play- 
thing, Bernard  became  sombre,  bizarre,  and  irascible. 
It  was  at  this  point  that  the  marquis,  taking  a  reso- 
lution that  served  to  be  designated  by  all  the  epi- 
thets which  Mme.  de  Sevigne  heaped  upon  the  pro- 
posal to  marry  a  grand-daughter  of  Henri  IV  to  a 
Gascon  cadet,  decided  suddenly  to  pass  beneath  the 
Caudine  forks  indicated  by  M.  des  Tournelles  as  the 
only  means  of  salvation  left  him  in  this  weary  world. 


214 


CHAPTER    X 

FROM  the  time  of  his  interview  with  the  abom- 
inable Des  Tournelles  the  marquis  lost  both  sleep 
and  appetite.  Thanks  to  his  frivolous  and  light- 
minded  nature,  he  had  till  now  been  able  to  keep 
some  hopes,  to  cherish  a  few  illusions.  It  is  true 
that  he  no  longer  indulged  in  the  lively  jokes,  the 
pointed  sallies,  and  gay  quips  that  formerly  delight- 
ed his  audience;  but  still  from  time  to  time  he  man- 
aged to  emancipate  himself,  to  recover  here  and 
there  a  little  of  the  enthusiasm,  the  verve,  and  petu- 
lance of  his  good-natured,  amiable  disposition.  He 
was  a  wounded  butterfly,  but  able  still  to  flutter  his 
wings,  when  the  horrid  lawyer,  under  pretext  of  put- 
ting him  out  of  his 'misery,  seized  him  delicately  be- 
tween his  fingers  and  pinned  him  down,  quivering, 
to  the  naked  boards  of  reality.  Thenceforward  the 
marquis  entered  on  a  new  form  of  martyrdom.  What 
was  he  to  do,  what  part  was  he  to  play?  If  pride  ad- 
vised him  to  retire  with  a  high  hand,  egoism  gave  the 
contrary  advice.  If  pride  had  good  reasons  to  bring 
forward,  egoism  had  equally  good,  if  not  better,  in 
reserve.  The  marquis  aged  visibly;  he  was  torment- 

215 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ed  with  the  gout;  twenty-five  years  of  exile  and  pri- 
vation had  cured  him  of  the  heroic  escapades  and 
chivalrous  exaltations  of  youth.  Poverty  suited  him 
all  the  less  that  he  had  been  intimately  acquainted 
with  it;  he  felt  his  blood  freeze  in  his  veins  at  the 
mere  recollection  of  that  pale  and  sullen  figure  that 
for  twenty-five  years  had  been  a  guest  at  his  hearth 
and  table;  while  to  complete  the  tale,  he  adored  his 
daughter,  though  he  loved  no  one  so  well  as  him- 
self. His  heart  was  heavy  at  the  thought  that  this 
charming  creature,  after  acclimatizing  herself  to  lux- 
ury and  opulence,  might  sink  again  into  the  uncon- 
genial and  icy  atmosphere  that  had  enveloped  her 
cradle.  He  hesitated,  and  we  know  more  than  one 
who,  under  these  conditions,  would  have  thought 
twice,  without  the  excuse  of  a  beloved  daughter,  the 
burden  of  sixty-odd  years,  and  the  gout.  What,  how- 
ever, could  he  do?  Whichever  side  he  turned,  M. 
de  la  Seigliere  saw  only  shame  and  ruin.  Mme.  de 
Vaubert,  who  put  off  all  his  questions  with  the  words, 
"  We  must  see,  we  must  wait,"  was  in  no  way  re- 
assuring. The  old  gentleman  bore  a  secret  grudge 
against  his  noble  friend  for  the  very  ignoble  part  they 
had  both  been  playing  for  the  past  six  months.  From 
another  aspect,  Bernard's  sudden  change  of  attitude 
had  chilled  the  marquis  with  terror.  Since  Helene 
no  longer  graced  them  with  her  presence,  the  days 
dragged  slowly,  the  evenings  more  slowly  still.  In 

216 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  morning,  after  the  breakfast  at  which  Mile,  de 
la  Seigliere  had  ceased  to  show  herself,  Bernard, 
leaving  the  marquis  to  his  reflections,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  only  came  back  in  the  evening,  more 
sombre,  more  taciturn,  more  unsociable  than  when 
he  had  gone  forth.  In  the  evening  Helene  retired 
to  her  room  almost  immediately  after  dinner,  and 
Bernard  remained  alone  in  the  salon  with  the  mar- 
quis and  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who,  having  exhausted 
all  the  resources  of  her  imagination  and  profoundly 
discouraged  for  the  rest,  could  think  of  no  expedient 
for  shortening  the  march  of  the  silent  hours.  Ber- 
nard had  a  habit  of  gazing  at  them  alternately  from 
time  to  time  which  made  them  shiver  from  head  to 
foot.  He  who  had  been  so  patient  as  long  as  Helene 
had  been  there  to  restrain  him  or  soothe  him  with 
her  smile,  now  launched  out  at  any  casual  expres- 
sion of  the  marquis  or  the  baronne  into  rages  which 
terrified  them  both  out  of  their  senses.  He  had  sub- 
stituted action  for  narration;  he  gave  battle  instead 
of  describing  it;  and  when  he  had  retired,  generally 
in  a  white  rage,  without  taking  the  old  gentleman's 
hand,  the  marquis  and  the  baronne,  lejft  together 
by  the  fireside,  would  look  at  each  other  in  silence. 
"  Well,  Mme.  la  Baronne?  "  "  Well,  M.  le  Marquis, 
we  must  wait,  we  must  see,"  Mme.  de  Vaubert  would 
say  yet  once  more.  The  marquis,  with  his  feet  on 
the  andirons  and  his  nose  in  the  embers,  abandoned 

217 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

himself  to  mute  despair,  from  which  the  baronne  did 
not  even  try  to  extricate  him.  He  expected  from 
day  to  day  to  receive  his  formal  congt.  Nor  was  this 
all.  M.  de  la  Seigliere  knew,  beyond  all  manner  of 
doubt,  that  he  was,  as  M.  des  Tournelles  had  said, 
a  subject  of  raillery  and  derision  to  the  country-side 
as  well  as  an  object  of  hate  and  execration.  Anony- 
mous letters,  the  distraction  and  pastime  of  the  prov- 
inces, finally  poisoned  an  existence  embittered  al- 
ready by  gall  and  wormwood.  Not  a  day  passed 
without  bringing  him  one  of  those  venomous  flowers 
that  grow  and  proliferate  in  departmental  dung- 
heaps.  In  some  he  was  treated  as  an  aristocrat  and 
threatened  with  the  lamp-post;  in  others  he  was  ac- 
cused of  ingratitude  towards  his  quondam  farmer, 
and  of  wishing  to  disinherit  the  son  after  having,  like 
a  coward  and  a  traitor,  despoiled  the  father.  The  ma- 
jority of  these  letters  were  decorated  with  pen-and- 
ink  illustrations,  little  gems  of  grace  and  amenity, 
which  formed  a  suggestive  supplement  or  comple- 
ment to  the  text.  For  instance,  they  depicted  a 
stake  with  a  poor  wretch,  presumably  a  marquis, 
impaled  upon  it,  or  may-be  the  same  person  in  con- 
junction with  an  instrument  much  in  vogue  in  '93. 
To  cap  this  accumulated  anguish,  the  Gazette,  which 
the  marquis  had  read  assiduously  since  his  interview 
with  the  Poitevin  D'Aguesseau,  abounded  in  sinister 
predictions  and  lamentable  prophecies;  the  Liberal 

218 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

party  was  daily  represented  in  it  as  a  match  destined 
to  spring  inevitable  mines  on  the  hardly  restored 
monarchy. 

Thus  all  the  words  of  the  execrable  old  man 
were  already  confirmed,  and  menaced  realization. 
Alarmed,  as  one  might  well  be  at  less,  M.  de  la 
Seigliere  dreamed  of  nothing  but  outbreaks  and 
revolutions.  At  night  he  jumped  up  to  listen  to 
the  wind,  which  sang  the  Marseillaise  in  his  ear; 
when,  at  last,  half  dead  with  fatigue,  he  succeeded 
in  sleeping,  it  was  to  see  the  horrid  countenance  of 
the  old  jurist  peeping  through  the  curtains  of  his 
bed,  screaming,  "  Marry  your  daughter  to  Bernard!  " 
Now,  the  marquis  was  not  the  man  to  remain  long 
in  a  position  so  galling  to  all  his  instincts.  He  had 
neither  the  patience  nor  the  perseverance  which  are 
the  cement  of  energetic  and  strong-minded  people. 
Uneasy,  irritated,  humiliated,  exasperated,  weary  of 
waiting  when  nothing  came  of  it,  forced  into  an  im- 
passe, seeing  no  exit  from  it,  you  might  have  wagered 
a  hundred  to  one  that  the  marquis  would  extricate 
himself  suddenly,  by  a  lightning-stroke;  but  no  one, 
not  even  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  could  have  foreseen  the 
bomb  that  was  about  to  burst,  unless  it  had  been 
M.  des  Tournelles,  who  had  lit  the  match. 

One  evening  in  April,  alone  with  the  marquis, 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  silent,  gazing  with  visible 
preoccupation  at  the  fiery  sparks  that  ran  up  and 

2IQ 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

down  the  half-consumed  embers.  You  would  read- 
ily have  surmised,  in  watching  her,  that  she  was  op- 
pressed by  serious  uneasiness.  Her  eye  was  fixed, 
her  brow  weighted  with  cares;  her  clenched  fingers, 
of  the  egoist  in  extremity,  pinched  and  pulled  at  her 
formerly  open  and  smiling  mouth.  This  woman,  to 
tell  the  truth,  had  cause  enough  for  serious  alarm. 
From  day  to  day  the  situation  was  getting  more 
desperate,  and  Mme.  de  Vaubert  began  to  ask  her- 
self if  she  were  not,  after  all,  going  to  be  taken  in 
her  own  snares.  Bernard  was  distinctly  at  home 
here;  and  while  she  had  not  yet  lost  all  hope,  while 
she  had  not  yet,  as  they  say,  thrown  the  handle  after 
the  hatchet,  still,  in  view  of  the  probability  that  an 
hour  might  be  coming  in  which  M.  de  la  Seigliere 
and  his  daughter  would  be  forced  to  evacuate  the 
place,  the  baronne  was  already  forming  the  plan  of 
campaign  that  she  would  have  to  follow  in  the  event 
of  a  denouement  as  fatal  as  she  felt  herself  bound  to 
anticipate.  Not  admitting  the  possibility  that  her 
son  might  marry  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  with  no  dowry 
other  than  her  youth,  her  grace,  and  her  beauty, 
she  was  already  seeking  how  she  might  manoeuvre, 
in  regard  to  Helene  and  her  father,  in  order  to  dis- 
engage the  plighted  word  and  the  hand  of  RaouL 
For  some  weeks  past  this  had  been  the  subject  of  her 
secret  preoccupations. 

While  Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  plunged  in  these 

220 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

reflections,  the  marquis,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
fire,  as  silent  as  herself,  was  considering  anxiously 
what  tactics  he  ought  to  pursue  in  the  battle  he 
was  bent  upon  declaring — how  he  should  set  to  work 
to  free  the  word  and  hand  of  Helene  from  Raoul 
and  his  mother. 

"That  poor  marquis!"  said  the  baronne  to  her- 
self, examining  him  covertly  from  time  to  time;  "if 
we  ever  have  to  come  to  the  point,  it  will  be  a 
terrible  blow  to  him.  I  know  him;  he  is  consoling 
himself  in  the  thought  that,  whatever  happens,  his 
daughter  will  be  Baronne  de  Vaubert.  He  loves 
me,  I  know;  for  nearly  twenty  years  past  he  has 
rejoiced  in  the  thought  of  drawing  our  intimacy 
closer,  and  consecrating  it  in  some  sort  by  the  union 
of  our  children.  Excellent  friend !  Where  shall  I  find 
courage  to  afflict  this  tender  and  devoted  heart, 
to  tear  out  his  last  illusions?  I  anticipate  desperate 
fights,  bitter  recriminations.  He  will  not  fail,  in  his 
anger,  to  accuse  me  of  having  courted  his  fortune, 
and  of  turning  my  back  on  his  misfortunes.  I  must 
be  firm  against  him  and  against  myself;  I  shall  be 
able  to  make  him  understand  that  it  would  be  folly 
to  marry  our  double  poverty,  inhuman  to  condemn 
his  race  and  mine  to  the  gnawing  cares  of  everlast- 
ing mediocrity.  He  will  get  over  it;  we  shall  weep 
together;  we  shall  mingle  our  tears  and  our  regrets. 
Afterward  there  will  be  the  grief  of  Helene  and  the 

221 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

remonstrances  of  Raoul.  Alas!  these  two  children 
adore  one  another.  God  had  created  them  for  each 
other.  We  will  make  them  listen  to  reason;  at  the 
end  of  six  months  they  will  be  consoled.  Raoul  will 
marry  the  daughter  of  some  opulent  plebeian  who 
will  be  too  happy  to  ennoble  his  blood  and  polish 
his  crown-pieces.  As  to  the  marquis,  he  is  too  in- 
fatuated with  his  ancestors  and  too  wedded  to  his 
old  ideas  ever  to  consent  to  a  mesalliance.  Since  he 
holds  by  his  parchments,  well,  we  will  find  some 
rustic  for  Helene  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  I  must 
send  this  good  marquis  to  end  his  days  with  his 
son-in-law." 

Thus  Mme.  de  Vaubert  reasoned,  should  things 
come  to  their  worst.  At  the  same  time,  she  was 
still  far  from  giving  up  her  prey.  She  knew  Helene, 
she  had  studied  Bernard.  If  she  did  not  suspect 
what  was  passing  in  the  young  girl's  heart — Mile, 
de  la  Seigliere  did  not  suspect  it  herself — the  baronne 
had  read  the  heart  of  the  young  man;  she  knew  more 
than  he  of  the  secret  of  his  agitation.  She  vaguely 
divined  that  something  might  be  made  out  of  the 
contrast  of  these  two  fine  natures;  she  felt  that  there 
was  something  here  to  find,  an  incident,  a  shock  to 
be  put  in  train,  an  occasion  to  be  contrived.  But 
how?  But  why?  Her  reason  failed  her,  and  her 
genius,  defeated  but  not  beaten,  rebelled  against  her 
impotence. 

222 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  That  poor  baronne! "  said  the  marquis  to  him- 
self, throwing  furtive  and  timid  glances  at  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  from  afar;  "  she  has  no  suspicion  of  the 
blow  I  am  preparing  for  her.  Taking  her  all  round, 
she  is  an  amiable  and  faithful  soul,  a  sincere  and 
loyal  friend.  I  am  convinced  that  she  has  only 
sought  my  happiness  in  all  this;  I  would  swear  that, 
from  her  own  point  of  view,  she  has  no  ambition 
other  than  to  see  her  Raoul  married  to  my  Helena. 
Whatever  happened,  she  would  hasten  to  welcome 
us,  my  daughter  and  myself,  in  her  little  manor,  and 
would  consider  herself  happy  to  share  her  modest 
pittance  with  us.  So  long  as  her  son  marries  a  La 
Seigliere,  it  will  be  enough  for  her  pride,  enough  for 
her  happiness.  Dear,  kind  friend!  On  my  side,  it 
would  have  been  sweet  to  realize  this  charming 
dream,  to  end  my  days  near  her.  When  she  learns 
that  we  must  forego  this  long-cherished  hope,  she 
will  heap  me  with  cutting  reproaches — alas!  perhaps 
too  justifiable.  And  yet,  would  it  in  all  conscience 
be  wise  and  reasonable  to  expose  our  children  to 
the  rigours  of  poverty,  to  fetter  ourselves  in  one 
way  and  another  by  an  iron  chain  that  will  wound 
us  sooner  or  later,  and  that  we  shall  end  by  cursing? 
The  baronne  is  sensible  and  reasonable  enough; 
when  her  first  impulse  has  quieted  down-,  she  will 
understand  it  all,  and  will  resign  herself;  and  as  the 
Vauberts  don't  see  the  joke  of  a  mesalliance —  Well, 
ii— Vol.  7  223 


Mademoiselle  dc  la  Seiglifere 

well,  Raoul  is  a  fine  young  fellow;  we  shall  easily 
find  some  rich  dowager  in  the  neighbourhood  who 
will  esteem  herself  too  happy  in  securing  a  second 
spring  with  him  at  the  cost  of  her  fortune." 

Thus  the  marquis  reasoned,  and,  if  it  must  be 
confessed,  the  marquis  was  on  thorns — he  would  at 
that  moment  have  felt  more  comfortable  in  a  holly 
bush  than  on  the  cushions  of  his  arm-chair.  He 
dreaded  Mme.  de  Vaubert  as  much  as  a  revolution; 
he  was  conscious  of  his  treachery;  his  heart  sank  at 
the  thought  of  the  storms  he  was  going  to  encoun- 
ter. At  last,  by  a  desperate  resolution,  and  taking 
his  courage  in  both  hands,  he  embarked  in  a  skir- 
mish, letting  off  a  few  stray  shots,  delivered  at  long 
intervals. 

"  You  know,  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  he  cried  in  the 
abrupt  way  of  a  man  who  is  little  used  to  this  sort 
of  guerrilla  warfare,  "  this  M.  Bernard  is  really  a 
very  remarkable  young  fellow.  I  am  pleased  with 
the  boy.  He  is  as  sharp  as  powder,  as  prompt  as 
his  sword,  strong-headed,  even  a  little  hot-tempered, 
but  as  loyal  and  frank  as  gold.  Not  exactly  good- 
looking,  but  then  I  like  that  virile  type.  What  eyes! 
what  a  forehead!  He  has  the  nose  of  royal  races. 
I  should  like  to  know  where  the  rascal  got  his  nose. 
And  have  you  noticed  what  a  fine,  beautiful  mouth 
he  has  got  under  his  brown  mustache?  Dieu  me 
pardonne,  it  is  the  mouth  of  a  marquis!  Wit,  dis- 

224 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

tinction,  a  little  brusque  still,  a  little  rough,  but  al- 
ready refined  and  almost  transfigured  since  he  has 
been  with  us.  It  is  thus  that  gold  is  purified  in  the 
crucible.  And  besides,  no  one  can  deny  that  he  is 
a  hero — the  stuff  of  which  the  Emperor  made  dukes, 
and  princes,  and  marshals.  I  can  see  him  still  upon 
Roland — what  pluck,  what  nerve,  what  intrepidity? 
Look  here,  baronne,  I  won't  deny  it;  I  do  not  feel 
ashamed  of  shaking  hands  with  him." 

"  Who  are  you  talking  about,  marquis? "  in- 
quired Mme.  de  Vaubert  indifferently,  without  in- 
terrupting the  course  of  her  silent  reflections. 

"  About  our  young  friend,"  replied  the  marquis 
complacently,  "  our  young  major." 

"  And  you  were  saying?  " 

"  That  nature  has  strange  aberrations,  that  this 
boy  should  have  been  born  a  gentleman." 

"Little  Bernard?" 

"  You  really  might  call  him  big  Bernard,"  pro- 
tested the  marquis,  with  his  hands  in  his  breeches 
pockets. 

;<  You  are  losing  your  head,  marquis,"  replied 
Mme.  de  Vaubert  curtly,  resuming  her  attitude  of 
serious  meditation. 

Encouraged  by  so  much  success,  like  the  prudent 
warriors  who,  after  discharging  their  arquebuses, 
take  refuge  behind  a  tree  to  load  their  weapons 
again  in  safety,  the  marquis  lay  snug.  There  was 

225 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

another  long  silence,  disturbed  only  by  the  chirp 
of  the  cricket  that  was  singing  in  the  crack  of  the 
hearth  and  by  the  flickering  of  the  embers  that  had 
just  burned  down. 

"  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  cried  the  marquis  sudden- 
ly, "  don't  you  think  I  have  been  a  bit  ungrateful 
to  that  good  old  M.  Stamply?  I  must  confess  that 
my  conscience  is  not  quite  easy  on  that  score.  It 
appears,  distinctly,  that  the  worthy  man  did  not  re- 
store anything  to  me — he  gave  me  the  whole.  If 
this  is  so,  why,  then,  do  you  know,  that  it  is  one 
of  the  finest  acts  of  devotion  and  generosity  that 
history  has  ever  recorded  on  its  tablets.  Why,  ma- 
dame,  this  old  Stamply  was  a  splendid  man,  and  my 
daughter  and  I  ought  to  erect  altars  to  his  mem- 
ory." 

Too  deeply  engrossed  in  her  egoism  even  to  care 
what  the  marquis  was  driving  at,  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
merely  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  made  no  reply. 

M.  de  la  Seigliere  was  beginning  to  despair  of 
rinding  the  joint  in  her  armour  when  he  opportunely 
remembered  the  lessons  of  M.  des  Tournelles.  He 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  a  lacquer  tray,  took  up 
a  newspaper,  and  asked  absently,  pretending  to 
glance  through  its  columns: 

"  Mme.  la  Baronne,  have  you  been  reading  the 
news  in  the  papers  lately?  " 

"  Why  should  I?  "  replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert  with 
226 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

an  impatient  little  movement;  "  what  interest  can  all 
this  nonsense  have  for  me?  " 

"  By  the  sword  of  my  fathers,  madame,"  ex- 
claimed the  marquis,  letting  the  paper  drop,  "  you 
take  matters  very  coolly.  Nonsense  I  admit;  rub- 
bish as  much  as  you  like,  but,  vive  Dieu!  unless  I 
am  very  much  mistaken,  this  nonsense  interests  us 
both  a  great  deal  more  than  you  appear  to  be 
aware." 

"  Well,  marquis,  what  is  happening? "  asked 
Mme.  de  Vaubert,  looking  bored.  "  His  Majesty 
condescends  to  enjoy  perfect  health;  our  princes  are 
hunting;  there  is  dancing  at  court;  the  people  are 
happy,  the  rabble  have  their  bellies  full.  What  do 
you  see  in  all  that  to  alarm  us?  " 

"  Thirty  years  ago  we  said  exactly  the  same 
thing,"  replied  the  marquis,  opening  his  snuff-box 
and  delicately  inserting  his  thumb  and  finger;  "  the 
rabble  had  their  bellies  full,  our  princes  were  hunt- 
ing, the  court  was  dancing,  his  Majesty  was  in  good 
health;  all  of  which  in  no  wise  prevented  the  ancient 
throne  of  France  from  cracking  one  fine  morning, 
from  falling  and  dragging  us  down  in  its  fall  and 
burying  us,  alive  or  dead,  in  the  ruins.  You  ask 
what  is  happening?  What  was  happening  then?  We 
are  living  on  a  volcano." 

"  You  are  mad,  marquis,"  said  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert, who  was  immersed  in  her  preoccupations  and 

22? 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

for  the  rest  but  moderately  inclined  to  embark  on  a 
political  discussion  between  eleven  o'clock  and  mid- 
night, and  did  not  really  think  it  worth  while  to  take 
up  and  dispute  the  old  gentleman's  opinions. 

"  I  repeat,  Mme.  la  Baronne,  we  are  on  the  edge 
of  a  volcano.  The  revolution  is  not  extinct;  it  is 
a  badly  smothered  fire  that  is  smouldering  beneath 
the  cinders.  Some  fine  day  you  will  see  it  break 
out  and  consume  the  remains  of  the  monarchy.  It 
is  a  den  where  a  lot  of  ragamuffins  who  call  them- 
selves the  representatives  of  the  people  are  congre- 
gated; it  is  a  mine  dug  beneath  the  throne,  and  it 
will  explode  like  a  powder-magazine.  The  Liberals 
have  inherited  from  the  sans-culottes',  liberalism  will 
consummate  what  the  revolution  of  '93  began.  It 
remains  to  be  seen  if  we  shall  let  ourselves  once 
more  be  crushed  under  the  ruins  of  royalty,  or  if 
we  shall  seek  our  salvation  in  the  very  ideas  that 
threaten  to  engulf  us." 

"  Well,  marquis,"  said  the  baronne,  "  that  is  just 
the  question.  You  are  busying  yourself  over  an  im- 
aginary revolution,  and  you  don't  see  that  your  own 
house  is  burning  down." 

"  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  cried  the  marquis,  "  I  am 
no  egoist.  I  can  say  emphatically  that  personal  in- 
terest has  never  been  my  aim  or  motto.  Whether 
my  house  burns  down  or  not  matters  little.  It  is 
not  I  who  am  in  question  here,  it  is  the  future  com- 

228 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

mon  to  us  all.  Who  would  care,  in  effect,  if  the 
race  of  La  Seigliere  were  to  be  extinguished  silently 
and  forgotten  in  obscurity?  What  does  matter, 
madame,  is  that  the  aristocracy  of  France  should 
not  perish." 

"  I  am  curious  to  know  how  you  will  set  to  work 
to  prevent  the  aristocracy  of  France  from  perish- 
ing," returned  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who,  a  hundred 
miles  from  suspecting  the  real  point  of  the  marquis, 
could  not  .suppress  a  smile  when  she  saw  this  friv- 
olous person  jauntily  advancing  such  arduous  and 
perilous  considerations. 

"  It  is  a  serious  question  that  I  am  capable  of 
raising,  but  the  solution  of  which  is  beyond  my 
powers,"  cried  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  who,  at  last  feel- 
ing himself  in  the  right  track,  advanced  with  more 
assurance  and  soon  trotted  out  gallantly.  "  And 
yet,  if  I  were  permitted  to  hazard  some  few  ideas 
on  this  important  subject,  I  should  say  that  it  is 
not  by  isolating  themselves  in  their  estates  and  cha- 
teaux that  the  aristocracy  can  recover  the  prepon- 
derance they  formerly  enjoyed  in  the  destinies  of  the 
country.  Perhaps  I  might  venture  to  add,  under 
my  breath,  that  our  families  have  intermarried  too 
long  among  themselves;  that  for  want  of  being  re- 
newed, the  patrician  blood  is  exhausted;  that,  in 
order  to  recover  the  strength,  the  warmth,  and  the 
life  that  are  on  the  point  of  escaping  from  it,  it  needs 

229 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglierc 

to  be  blended  with  the  younger,  hotter,  more  vital 
blood  of  the  people  and  the  bourgeoisie;  in  short, 
Mme.  la  Baronne,  I  should  seek  to  prove  that,  since 
the  age  progresses,  we  must  progress  with  it,  under 
penalty  of  being  left  behind  on  the  road  or  of  being 
crushed  in  the  gutter.  It  is  a  hard  thought,  but  we 
must  be  courageous  enough  to  face  it:  the  Gauls  are 
carrying  the  day;  the  only  hope  of  the  Franks  lies 
in  the  condition  of  rallying  to  the  party  of  the 
victors  and  of  recruiting  themselves  from  their 
ranks." 

At  this  point  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who,  from  the 
first  words  of  this  little  speech,  had  turned  gradually 
round  to  face  the  orator,  leaned  her  elbow  on  the 
arm  of  the  chair  on  which  she  was  sitting,  and  ap- 
peared to  listen  to  the  marquis  with  curious  attention. 

"  Would  you  like  to  know,  Mme.  la  Baronne," 
M.  de  la  Seigliere  went  on,  master  at  length  of  the 
situation,  "  would  you  like  to  know  what  the  famous 
Des  Tournelles,  one  of  the  largest,  most  enlightened 
minds  of  the  century,  said  to  me  the  other  day? 
'  M.  le  Marquis,'  said  this  great  jurist,  '  the  times 
are  bad;  let  us  adopt  the  people  in  order  to  make 
the  people  adopt  us;  let  us  descend  to  them,  so  that 
they  shall  not  ascend  to  us.  The  aristocracy  of  to- 
day are  like  those  precious  metals  that  can  only  so- 
lidify in  combining  with  a  grain  of  alloy.'  His 
thought  is  so  profound  that  it  made  me  dizzy  at  first. 

230 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

By  dint  of  considering  it,  I  discovered  its  funda- 
mental truth.  A  cruel  truth,  I  admit,  but  yet  it  is 
better  to  secure  the  conquest  of  the  future  at  the 
cost  of  some  concessions  than  to  slumber  and  be 
buried  in  the  shroud  of  a  past  that  will  never  re- 
turn. Eh,  ventre-saint-gris ! "  he  cried,  rising  and 
walking  with  long  strides  about  the  room,  "  we  have 
been  long  enough  represented  in  the  eyes  of  the 
country  as  an  incorrigible  caste,  rejecting  from  its 
breast  whatever  is  not  of  itself,  infatuated  with  its 
titles,  having  neither  learned  nor  forgotten  anything, 
filled  with  pride  and  arrogance,  the  enemy  of  equal- 
ity. It  is  time  to  end  these  base  calumnies  and  fool- 
ish accusations.  Let  us  mingle  with  the  crowd;  let 
us  fling  open  our  gates,  and  let  our  enemies  learn 
in  knowing  us  to  respect  us." 

With  these  words,  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  terrified 
at  his  own  audacity,  looked  timidly  at  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert  and  assumed  the  attitude  of  a  man  who,  after 
lighting  a  train  of  powder  that  is  to  explode  a  mine, 
has  no  time  to  fly  and  prepares  to  receive  a  ton  of 
rock  upon  his  head.  But  it  fell  out  otherwise.  The 
baronne,  who  had  a  sufficiently  poor  opinion  of  her 
old  friend  to  be  suspicious  of  his  probity  and  can- 
dour, was  still  far  too  preoccupied  with  her  own  af- 
fairs to  suppose  that  there  could  in  this  world,  at 
this  time  of  day,  exist  any  ego  other  than  her  own, 
any  interest  save  hers.  Without  even  asking  herself 

231 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglierc 

whence  the  marquis  had  obtained  these  new  and 
startling  views,  Mme.  de  Vaubert  at  first  saw  and 
understood  but  one  thing,  namely,  that  the  marquis 
himself  had  opened  the  door  by  which  Raoul  might 
one  day  escape,  upon  occasion. 

"  Marquis,"  she  cried  with  effusion,  "  what  you 
say  is  most  reasonable;  and,  while  I  never  doubted 
your  strong  intellect,  while  I  always  suspected  a  seri- 
ous and  logical  mind  beneath  the  grace  of  your  su- 
perficial aspect,  I  must  admit  that  I  am  as  surprised 
as  charmed  to  find  you  upholding  such  an  elevated 
and  judicious  category  of  ideas.  I  must  compliment 
you." 

At  these  words  the  marquis  looked  up  and  gazed 
at  Mme.  de  Vaubert  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
had  a  handful  of  roses  thrown  in  his  face  instead 
of  the  grape-shot  he  was  expecting.  Too  egoistic 
on  his  side  to  think  of  anything  outside  himself,  he 
was  so  far  from  seeking  any  reason  for  the  ba- 
ronne's  goodwill  that  he  merely  congratulated  him- 
self upon  it 

"  That  is  a  little  the  fate  of  us  all,"  he  replied, 
caressing  his  chin  with  admirable  fatuity.  "  Because 
certain  graces  have  been  vouchsafed  to  us,  the  ped- 
ants and  prigs  revenge  themselves  for  the  superior- 
ity of  our  manner  by  denying  us  intelligence.  When 
we  stoop  to  mix  in  the  fray,  we  prove  to  them  that 
every  field  of  battle  is  the  same  to  us,  and  that  we 

232 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

can  nowadays  joust  with  word  and  thought  as  for- 
merly with  lance  and  sword." 

"  Marquis,"  resumed  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  who  was 
anxious  to  keep  the  conversation  to  the  lines  it  had 
started  on,  "  to  return  to  the  considerations  on 
which  you  embarked  just  now,  it  is  certain  that  there 
will  be  an  end  of  the  aristocracy  if,  instead  of  seeking 
to  create  alliances,  it  continues,  as  you  have  so  ex- 
cellently said,  to  isolate  itself  on  its  own  estates  and 
to  shut  itself  up  in  its  pride.  It  is  a  tottering  edi- 
fice that  will  crumble  one  fine  day  unless  we  are 
clever  enough  to  turn  the  rams  that  are  battering  it 
into  flying  buttresses  for  its  support.  In  other  words, 
if  you  will  pardon  the  somewhat  crude  metaphor, 
if  we  want  to  defend  ourselves  from  the  attacks  of 
the  people,  we  must  be  inoculated  with  it." 

"That's  it;  pardieu,  that's  it!"  cried  M.  de  la 
Seigliere,  more  and  more  overjoyed  at  not  meeting 
the  opposition  he  had  dreaded.  "  Distinctly,  ba- 
ronne,  you  are  admirable.  You  understand  the 
whole  question;  nothing  surprises  you,  nothing 
moves  you,  nothing  astonishes  you.  You  have  the 
eye  of  the  eagle;  you  can  look  the  sun  in  the  face 
and  not  be  dazzled  by  it. — This  poor  baronne,"  he 
added  to  himself,  "  she  is  putting  her  foot  in  it,  for 
all  her  wits." 

"  This  worthy  marquis,"  thought  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert on  her  side,  "  I  do  not  know  what  bee  he  has 

233 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

got  in  his  bonnet,  but  the  fool  is  playing  into  my 
hands  nicely;  he  has  himself  thrown  out  the  net  in 
which,  if  needs  be,  I  shall  take  him  later. — Marquis," 
she  exclaimed  aloud,  "  I  have  long  held  these  opin- 
ions, but  I  confess  that  I  feared,  in  communicating 
them  to  you,  to  irritate  your  susceptibilities  and 
alienate  your  sympathies." 

"  To  think  of  it !  "  replied  the  marquis.  "  What 
an  idea  you  must  have  of  your  old  friend,  baronne! 
Why,  to  begin  with,  besides  the  fact  that  in  view 
of  our  sacred  cause,  there  is  no  trial  that  I  would  not 
submit  to  with  resignation,  I  must  avow  that  I 
should,  for  my  part,  feel  no  repugnance  to  show  an 
example  by  adventuring  myself  the  first  in  the  sole 
way  of  salvation  that  is  open  to  us.  I  have  always 
set  an  example:  I  was  the  first  to  emigrate.  Other 
times,  other  ways.  I  am  not  the  Marquis  of  Cara- 
bas;  I  move  with  my  century.  The  people  has  won 
its  spurs  and  conquered  its  titles  of  nobility;  it  also 
has  its  dukes,  its  counts,  its  marquises;  Eylau,  Wa- 
gram,  Moskowa;  these  parchments  are  as  good  as 
others.  For  the  rest,  Mme.  la  Baronne,  I  can  ex- 
cuse your  scruples,  and  I  recognise  your  hesitations; 
for  in  my  own  case,  if  I  have  been  long  in  opening 
my  heart  to  you  in  this  matter,  it  is  because  I  feared 
to  alarm  your  prejudices,  and  to  find  myself  at  war 
with  such  a  faithful  friend." 

"  This  is  strange,"  said  Mme.  de  Vaubert  to  her- 
234 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

self.  "What  is  the  marquis  coming  to?  Shock  my 
prejudices! "  she  cried  aloud.  "  Do  you  take  me  for 
a  Baronne  de  Pretintailles?  Have  I  ever  refused 
to  imagine  all  that  is  grand  and  noble  and  generous 
in  the  people?  Have  I  ever  belittled  the  bourgeoisie? 
Am  I  not  well  aware  that  it  is  with  the  plebeians 
that  the  feelings,  the  manners,  and  the  virtues  of  the 
golden  age  have  taken  refuge?  " 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh! "  thought  the  marquis,  with  a 
dawning  of  reflection;  "  this  is  not  all  clear.  There 
is  some  snake  in  the  grass  here." 

"  As  to  fighting  me,  marquis,  were  you  seriously 
afraid  of  that?"  added  Mme.  de  Vaubert.  "But 
then  you  thought  as  badly  of  my  heart  as  of  my 
intellect.  You  know  well,  dear  friend,  that  I  am 
no  egoist.  I  have  many  a  time  been  on  the  point 
of  giving  you  back  your  word,  feeling  that,  in  ex- 
change for  your  daughter's  opulence,  my  son  would 
give  only  a  great  name,  the  heaviest  of  all  burdens." 

"  What's  this?  "  thought  the  marquis.  "  Is  this 
wily  baronne,  with  some  inkling  of  my  approaching 
ruin,  attempting  to  free  the  hand  of  her  son?  Upon 
my  word,  that  would  be  too  much! — Mme.  la  Ba- 
ronne," he  cried,  "  that  is  exactly  my  own  case.  I 
have  often  accused  myself  of  shackling  the  future 
of  M.  de  Vaubert.  I  have  asked  myself,  in  alarm, 
if  my  daughter  will  not  be  obstacle  to  the  destiny 
of  this  noble  young  man." 

235 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglierc 

"Ah,  ha!  "  said  Mme.  de  Vaubert  to  herself,  see- 
ing dimly  through  the  mists  the  shore  to  which  the 
marquis  was  steering  his  bark;  "  can  this  cunning 
marquis  be  trying  to  trick  me?  Heaped  as  he  is 
with  my  kindness,  it  would  really  be  too  infamous. 
— Indeed,  marquis,"  she  replied  aloud,  "  it  would 
cost  me  dear  to  break  off  this  charming  connection; 
and  yet,  if  it  were  exacted  by  your  interests,  I  should 
be  capable  of  immolating  the  sweetest  dream  of  my 
whole  life." 

"  She  has  shown  her  hand,"  thought  the  marquis, 
"she  has  tricked  me;  but  it  doesn't  matter.  Only, 
how  could  I  have  anticipated  such  an  act  of  perfidy 
on  the  part  of  a  friend  of  thirty  years?  This  comes 
of  counting  on  the  disinterested  affections  and  grati- 
tude of  woman! — Baronne,"  he  resumed  with  an  ex- 
pression of  painful  resignation,  "  if  we  had  to  give 
up  the  hope  of  one  day  uniting  these  two  children, 
I  should  never  recover  the  blow;  my  heart  bleeds 
even  to  think  of  it.  And  yet,  for  you,  my  noble 
friend,  and  for  your  beloved  sdn,  there  is  no  sacrifice 
beyond  my  powers  of  abnegation  and  devotion." 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  repressed  a  cry  like  that  of  a 
wounded  lioness;  then,  after  an  instant  of  angry  si- 
lence, she  suddenly  turned  her  flashing  eyes  upon 
the  old  gentleman,  saying: 

"  Marquis,  look  me  in  trie  face." 

At  the  tone  of  these  words  the  marquis  trem- 
236 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

bled  like  a  hare  trotting  through  the  heather,  which 
lifts  its  nose  suddenly  and  sees  the  sportsman  taking 
a  dead  shot.  He  looked  at  Mme.  de  Vaubert  with 
an  agonized  expression. 

"  Marquis,  you  are  a  knave!  " 

"Mme.  la  Baronne " 

"  You  are  a  traitor!  " 

"  Ventre-saint-gris,  madarne " 

"  You  are  an  ungrateful  wretch!  " 

Bowled  over,  stupefied,  M.  de  la  Seigliere  sat 
dumb  on  his  chair.  After  enjoying  his  stupor  and 
alarm  for  a  few  moments,  Mme.  de  Vaubert  at  length 
went  on:  "I  am  sorry  for  you;  I  will  spare  you  the 
disgrace  of  a  confession  which  you  could  not  make 
without  dying  of  shame  at  my  feet.  You  have  de- 
termined to  marry  your  daughter  to  Bernard." 

"  Madame " 

'  You  have  decided  on  marrying  your  daughter 
to  Bernard,"  resumed  Mme.  de  Vaubert  authorita- 
tively. "  I  have  seen  this  evolution  germinating  and 
developing  beneath  the  surface  of  your  egoism  for 
nearly  a  month  past;  I  have  assisted,  unknown  to 
you,  at  its  inception.  How  could  you  presume  to> 
vie  with  me  in  wit  and  subtlety?  How  could  you 
not  be  aware  that  you  would  lose  in  the  first  round 
at  that  game?  This  evening  you  betrayed  yourself 
in  the  very  first  word  you  uttered.  For  a  month 
past  I  have  been  watching  you,  I  was  waiting  for 

237 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

you,  I  knew  what  you  were  coming  to.  So,  M.  le 
Marquis,  while  I,  who  hate  subterfuge,  was  exhaust- 
ing myself  for  you  in  every  sort  of  combination; 
while  I  sacrificed  my  tastes,  my  instincts,  even  the 
probity  of  my  character  to  the  care  of  your  interests, 
you,  in  despite  of  your  promised  word,  were  plotting 
the  blackest  of  perfidies  against  me;  you  were  con- 
spiring to  deliver  over  to  your  enemy  the  affianced 
of  my  son  and  the  place  that  I  was  defending;  you 
meant  to  give  a  treacherous  blow  to  the  champion 
who  was  fighting  for  you!  " 

"  You  are  going  too  far,  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  re- 
turned the  marquis,  as  confused  as  a  poacher  taken 
in  his  own  snares.  "  I  have  resolved  on  nothing, 
I  have  determined  on  nothing;  only,  I  confess,  since 
I  have  known  that  the  good  M.  Stamply  made  no 
sort  of  restitution,  but  gave  me  everything,  I  have 
felt  oppressed  by  the  burden  of  gratitude;  and  as  I 
have  been  racking  my  brains  night  and  day  to  dis- 
cover in  what  way  my  daughter  and  I  could  dis- 
charge our  debt  to  the  memory  of  this  generous  old 
man,  it  is  possible  that  the  thought  had  crossed  my 
mind " 

"  You,  M.  le  Marquis,  you,  crushed  under  the 
burden  of  gratitude!"  exclaimed  Mme.  de  Vaubert, 
interrupting  him  explosively.  "  Don't  talk  to  me 
like  that  unless  you  are  joking.  I  know  you;  you 
are  ingratitude  itself.  You  care  just  as  much  about 

238 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  memory  of  old  Stamply  as  you  cared  about  him 
when  he  was  alive.  To  begin  with,  you  owe  him 
nothing;  you  owe  it  all  to  me.  Without  me,  your 
late  farmer  would  have  died  without  troubling  him- 
self about  your  existence.  Without  me,  you  and 
your  daughter  would  still  be  hovering  over  your 
little  German  fireside.  Without  me,  you  would 
never  have  set  foot  again  in  the  chateau  of  your 
ancestors.  You  know  it  all  quite  well,  but  you  pre- 
tend not  to  because,  I  repeat  once  more,  you  are 
ungrateful.  Come,  marquis,  put  your  cards  on  the 
table.  It  is  not  gratitude;  it  is  egoism  that  moves 
you.  You  are  furious  at  marrying  your  daughter 
to  the  son  of  this  farmer;  you  have  grown  pale  and 
thin  over  it,  you  are  shrivelling  up.  You  hate  the 
people;  you  execrate  Bernard;  you  have  understood, 
you  will  understand,  nothing  of  the  movement  that 
is  still  going  on  around  us.  You  are  prouder,  more 
arrogant,  more  obstinate,  more  prejudiced,  more  in- 
fested with  aristocratic  notions,  more  incorrigible,  in 
a  word,  than  any  marquis  of  song,  vaudeville,  or 
comedy.  Marquis  of  Carabas,  you  have  said  it  your- 
self; but  your  egoism  is  even  greater  than  your  arro- 
gance! " 

"  Well,  then,  ventre-saint-gris,  think  what  you 
like ! "  cried  the  marquis,  suddenly  throwing  his  cap 
over  the  mill.  "  What  I  know  is,  that  I  am  sick 
of  the  part  you  have  made  me  play.  I  have  been 

239 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

revolted  by  it  for  a  long  time.  I  am  exasperated 
with  all  these  tricks  and  low  manoeuvres.  I  want 
to  have  done  with  them  at  any  price.  Morbleu!  you 
have  hit  it — my  daughter  shall  marry  Bernard." 

"  Take  care,  marquis,  take  care !  " 

"  Yes,  heap  me  with  scorn  and  anger;  treat  me 
as  an  ungrateful  knave;  fling  the  words  egoist  and 
traitor  in  my  face;  you  may  do  it,  you  have  the 
right.  You  are  so  disinterested  yourself,  madame! 
Throughout  this  affair  you  have  proved  yourself  so 
frank  and  loyal!  At  the  close  of  his  life,  you  were 
so  good  to  poor  old  Stamply!  You  surrounded  his 
old  age  with  such  loving  care,  such  tenderness  and 
consideration!  In  all  conscience,  you  owed  him  that, 
for  it  was  you  who  persuaded  him  to  deprive  himself 
of  all  his  wealth." 

"  Cruel  man,  it  was  for  you." 

"  For  me,  for  me!  "  said  the  marquis,  shaking  his 
head.  "  Mme.  la  Baronne,  unless  you  are  joking, 
you  must  not  tell  me  things  like  that." 

"  It  well  beseems  you  to  accuse  me  of  ingrati- 
tude," replied  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  "  you,  the  recipient 
who  filled  the  cup  of  bitterness  for  the  donor." 

"  I  knew  nothing  about  it ;  but  you,  who  knew 
all,  you  had  no  pity." 

"  It  was  you,"  cried  the  baronne,  "  who  drove 
your  benefactor  from  his  fireside  and  his  table." 

"  It  was  you,"  cried  the  marquis,  "  you  who,  after 
240 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

stealing  the  confidence  of  a  credulous  and  defence- 
less old  man,  expelled  him  and  let  him  die  of 
sorrow." 

"  You  relegated  him  to  the  anteroom." 

"  You  plunged  him  in  his  grave." 

"  This  is  war,  marquis!  " 

"Well,  let  it  be  war,"  cried  the  marquis;  "then 
I  shall  not  die  without  having  fought  once,  at  any 
rate." 

"  Think  what  you  are  about,  marquis — a  pitiless 
war,  war  without  truce,  war  without  mercy!  " 

"  War  to  the  death,  madame!  "  said  the  marquis, 
kissing  her  hand. 

With  these  words  Mme.  de  Vaubert  retired, 
threatening  and  terrible,  while  the  marquis,  left  to 
himself,  skipped  about  for  joy  in  the  salon.  After 
she  had  returned  to  the  manor,  after  pacing  for  a 
long  time  up  and  down  her  room  in  great  strides, 
beating  her  forehead  and  clasping  her  breast  for 
rage,  the  baronne  suddenly  opened  the  window  and 
stood,  like  a  cat  watching  a  mouse,  in  front  of  the 
Chateau  de  la  Seigliere,  of  which  every  pane  was  at 
this  moment  glistening  in  the  moonlight.  Although 
the  night  was  cold,  she  remained  nearly  an  hour, 
leaning  over  the  balcony  in  silent  observation.  Sud- 
denly her  brow  cleared,  her  eyes  lit  up,  and,  like 
Ajax  menacing  the  gods,  she  cried,  with  a  gesture 
of  defiance  at  the  chateau,  "  It  shall  be  mine! " 

241 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Having  said  this,  the  baronne  wrote  to  Raoul  a 
single  word,  "  Come."  Then,  going  to  bed,  she 
slept  with  a  smile  upon  her  face  such  as  the  genius 
of  evil  must  wear  when  he  has  resolved  on  the  de- 
struction of  a  soul. 


242 


AFTER  this  memorable  evening  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert  appeared  no  more  at  the  chateau,  and  the 
chateau  did  very  well  without  her.  During  the  few 
days  that  elapsed  before  the  final  catastrophe  of  our 
story,  the  relations  between  Bernard  and  the  mar- 
quis were  more  satisfactory  than  they  had  been  even 
at  first.  No  longer  irritated  by  the  presence  of  the 
baronne,  against  whom  Bernard,  in  spite  of  himself, 
had  always  cherished  a  vague  sentiment  of  defiance 
and  smouldering  anger,  the  young  man  became  once 
more  familiar  and  amenable;  while  the  marquis,  on 
his  side,  adopted  gradually,  in  these  last  weeks,  a 
more  cordial,  more  affectionate,  almost  tender  man- 
ner. They  both  seemed  to  have  modified  their  opin- 
ions and  their  language,  to  their  mutual  satisfaction. 
In  the  evening,  over  the  fireside,  left  tete-a-tete,  they 
conversed  and  discussed,  and  no  longer  quarrelled. 
Moreover  since  the  disappearance  of  Mme.  de  Vau- 
bert  their  intercourse  took  a  less  political  and  more 
intimate  turn.  The  marquis  talked  of  domestic  joys, 
of  the  felicities  of  marriage;  at  times  he  said  things 
that  made  Bernard  tremble,  passing  over  his  heart 

243 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

like  warm  waves  of  happiness.  At  last,  one  evening, 
M.  de  la  Seigliere  gently  insisted  that  his  daughter 
should  remain  in  the  salon  instead  of  withdrawing 
to  her  room.  When  the  constraint  of  the  first  few 
moments  had  been  overcome,  the  evening  passed  in 
enchanted  hours;  the  marquis  was  witty,  amiable, 
and  frivolous;  Bernard,  happy  and  melancholy;  He- 
lene,  dreamy,  silent,  smiling.  Next  day  the  two 
young  people  met  in  the  park;  the  glamour  began 
again — more  disturbing,  it  is  true,  than  before,  more 
veiled,  yet  only  thereby  more  enchanting. 

And  yet,  how  was  the  question  to  be  opened  in 
regard  to  Helene?  By  what  roundabout  and  tortu- 
ous ways  could  she  be  brought  to  the  desired  end? 
For  nothing  in  the  world  would  the  marquis  have 
consented  to  reveal  to  her  the  humiliating  position, 
in  which  they  had  been  living  for  the  last  six  months 
with  respect  to  Bernard.  He  knew  her  proud  and 
noble  nature  too  well;  he  knew  the  soul  he  had  to 
deal  with.  And  yet  it  was  this  simple  and  honest 
creature  whom  he  was  bent  on  making  the  accom- 
plice of  his  egoism  and  treason. 

One  day  M.  de  la  Seigliere  was  plunged  in  these 
reflections,  when  he  felt  two  caressing  arms  around 
his  neck;  lifting  his  eyes,  he  saw  Helene's  smiling 
face,  bending  like  a  lily  above  his  head.  With  a 
sudden  movement  of  tenderness  he  drew  her  to  his 
heart  and  hald  her  in  a  long  embrace,  covering  hen 

244 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

blond  hair  with  kisses  and  caresses.  When  she  had 
freed  herself  from  his  arms,  Helene  saw  two  great 
tears  rolling  from  the  eyes  of  her  father,  who  never 
wept. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  possessing  herself  tenderly 
of  his  hands,  "  you  have  some  sorrow  that  you  are 
hiding  from  your  child.  I  know  it,  I  am  certain  of 
it.  This  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  perceived  it. 
What  is  it,  father?  To  whose  ear,  if  not  to  mine, 
should  you  confide  the  sorrows  of  your  heart?  Am 
I  no  longer  your  dear  daughter?  When  we  were 
both  living  in  the  depths  of  our  poor  Germany,  I 
had  only  to  smile  and  you  were  comforted.  Tell 
me  what  it  is,  father.  Something  strange  and  inex- 
plicable is  going  on  round  us.  What  has  become 
of  your  amiable  gaiety  in  which  I  so  delighted?  You 
are  sad;  Mme.  de  Vaubert  seems  to  be  uneasy;  I 
myself  am  agitated  and  suffer — doubtless  because  I 
feel  that  you  are  suffering.  What  is  the  matter? 
If  my  life  cannot  be  laid  down  for  you,  do  not 
tell  me." 

At  the  sight  of  his  victim  offering  herself  thus 
upon  the  altar  of  sacrifice,  the  marquis  could  no 
longer  contain  himself;  at  the  truthful  ring  of  her 
accents,  at  the  sound  of  her  charming  and  tender 
voice,  the  childish  old  man  burst  into  tears,  to  He- 
lene's  consternation. 

"  Mon  Dieul  what  has  happened?  Whatever  mis- 
245 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

fortune  has  come  upon  you,  can  it  be  greater  than 
my  love?  "  cried  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  throwing  her- 
self into  her  father's  arms  and  herself  bursting  into 
sobs. 

Though  he  was  really  moved  and  sincerely 
touched,  the  marquis  judged  the  occasion  too  favour- 
able to  be  neglected,  the  affair  enough  in  train  to 
be  pursued  with  profit.  For  a  moment  he  was  on 
the  point  of  telling  all,  of  confessing  everything. 
Shame  held  him  back,  and  also  the  fear  of  running 
counter  to  Helene's  pride,  in  which  case  she  would 
be  certain  to  rebel  from  the  outset  against  the  part 
reserved  for  her  in  this  adventure.  Once  again, 
therefore,  he  prepared  to  turn  the  flank  of  the  diffi- 
culty, instead  of  facing  it  boldly.  Not  that  this 
method  of  campaign  was  precisely  in  accordance 
with  his  character — far  from  it;  but  the  marquis  was 
unhinged.  Mme.  de  Vaubert  had  dragged  him  down 
a  fatal  path  from  which  he  could  not  now  escape 
except  by  trick  and  subtlety.  Once  off  the  broad 
way,  one  can  only  return  to  it  across  country  or 
through  by-paths.  After  drying  his  daughter's  eyes 
and  recovering  from  his  own  strong  emotion,  he  be- 
gan, with  certain  variations,  to  repeat  the  scene  he 
had  gone  through  with  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  for  you 
must  bear  in  mind  that  his  was  not,  like  that  of 
the  baronne,  an  imagination  versed  in  expedients; 
at  the  same  time,  thanks  to  recent  lessons,  the 

246 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

marquis  had  already  more  than  one  trick  up  his 
sleeve. 

He  therefore  began  by  complaining  of  the  hard 
times;  he  lamented  the  destinies  of  the  aristocracy, 
whom  he  represented,  in  a  metaphor  as  original  as 
it  was  startling,  as  a  vessel  incessantly  beaten  about 
by  the  revolutionary  flood.  Profiting  by  the  igno- 
rance of  Helene,  who  had  always  been  kept  from 
preoccupation  with  public  affairs,  he  depicted  in 
sombre  colours  the  uncertainties  of  the  present,  the 
menaces  of  the  future. 

He  employed  all  the  words  of  the  vocabulary  in 
use  at  that  time;  he  trotted  out  and  paraded  all  the 
spectres,  all  the  phantoms  despatched  by  the  ultra- 
royalist  journals  of  a  morning  to  their  clients.  The 
ground  was  mined,  the  horizon  lowering  with  tem- 
pests; the  hydra  of  revolution  was  uplifting  its  seven 
heads;  the  cry,  "Down  with  the  chateaux!"  was 
ready  to  break  out  at  any  moment;  the  people  and 

* 

the  bourgeoisie,  like  two  devouring  hyenas,  were 
merely  awaiting  a  signal  to  hurl  themselves  on  the 
defenceless  nobility,  to  gorge  themselves  with  their 
blood  and  divide  the  spoils.  It  was  doubtful  if  M. 
de  Robespierre  were  really  dead;  rumours  were 
abroad  that  the  Corsican  ogre  had  escaped  from  his 
island  prison.  In  fact,  the  marquis  produced  and 
piled  up  everything  he  thought  likely  to  alarm  as 
youthful  imagination.  When  he  had  done: 
12— Vol.  7  247 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Is  that  all,  father?  "  remarked  Mile,  de  la  Sei- 
gliere, with  a  calm,  serene  smile.  "  If  the  ground 
is  mined  beneath  our  feet,  if  the  sky  is  black,  if 
France,  as  you  say,  condemns  us  and  desires  our 
ruin,  why  do  we  stay  here?  Let  us  return  to  our 
dear  Germany;  let  us  live  there  as  we  did  before — 
poor,  unnoticed,  peaceful.  If  they  are  shouting 
'  Down  with  the  chateaux! '  they  must  also  shout 
'  Peace  to  the  cottages! '  What  more  do  we  want? 
Happiness  thrives  on  little,  opulence  is  not  worth  a 
regret." 

All  this  did  not  appeal  to  the  old  gentleman,  who 
knew  a  surer  way  of  touching  this  loyal  heart. 

"  My  child,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head,  "  these 
are  fine  sentiments;  some  thirty  years  ago  I  knew 
no  others.  I  was  one  of  the  first  who  gave  the  signal 
for  emigration;  country,  home,  hereditary  fortune, 
the  demesne  of  my  ancestors — I  left  it  all;  I  did  not 
hesitate  to  offer  this  proof  of  my  devotion  and  fidel- 
ity to  the  endangered  kingdom.  I  was  young  and 
valiant  then.  To-day  I  am  old,  my  Helene;  my 
body  betrays  my  heart,  my  blood  has  no  more  cour- 
age in  it,  the  blade  has  eaten  up  the  scabbard.  I 
am  only  a  poor  old  man,  devoured  with  gout  and 
rheumatism,  crippled  with  pains  and  infirmities.  For 
fear  of  alarming  your  tenderness,  I  have  till  now 
been  careful  to  conceal  the  pains  and  sufferings  I 
am  enduring.  The  fact  is,  my  daughter,  I  can  do 

248 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

no  more.  They  think  me  hale  and  fresh,  brisk  and 
in  robust  health;  to  look  at  me,  no  one  would 
hesitate  to  give  me  another  half  century  to  live. 
Deceitful  appearances!  From  day  to  day  I  am 
drooping  and  declining.  Look  at  my  poor  legs, 
what  sticks  they  are!  "  he  added,  putting  out  a  round 
and  vigorous  limb  with  much  self-commiseration. 
"  My  chest  is  seriously  affected.  It  is  no  use  con- 
cealing the  matter,  I  am  only  a  dead  trunk  that 
would  soon  be  swept  away  by  any  sudden  storm." 

"  O  father,  father!  what  are  you  saying? "  cried 
Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  throwing  herself  weeping  upon 
the  neck  of  the  new  Sixtus  Quintus. 

"  Come,  child,"  added  the  marquis,  with  an  air 
of  melancholy,  "  however  great  the  moral  force  one 
has  received  from  Heaven,  it  is  cruel  at  my  age  to 
retrace  the  path  of  exile  and  poverty  when  one  has 
no  longer  other  hopes,  other  ambitions  here  below 
than  to  lie  down  in  peace  and  mingle  one's  bones 
with  the  ashes  of  one's  ancestors." 

"  You  shall  not  die,  you  shall  live,"  said  Helene 
firmly,  pressing  him  to  her  heart.  "  God,  to  whom 
I  pray  for  you  in  all  my  prayers;  God,  who  is  just 
and  good,  will  give  you  to  my  love;  he  will  show 
me  the  favour  of  taking  my  life  that  yours  may  be 
prolonged.  As  to  the  other  peril  threatening  us, 
father,  is  it  as  grave  and  as  imminent  as  you  seem 
to  imagine?  Allow  me  to  say  that  you  are  perhaps 

249 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

alarming  yourself  a  little  unnecessarily.  Why  should 
the  people  hate  you?  Your  peasants  love  you,  be- 
cause you  are  kind  to  them.  When  I  pass  along  the 
fields  they  leave  off  work  to  greet  me  kindly ;  directly 
they  catch  sight  of  me,  the  children  run  up,  jumping 
for  glee;  more  than  once,  in  the  cottages,  the  mothers 
have  taken  my  hand  and  carried  it  to  their  lips. 
Those  are  not  people  who  hate  us.  You  speak  of 
mines,  of  sinister  rumours,  of  a  gloomy  outlook. 
But  see,  the  land  is  green  and  flourishing,  the  heav- 
ens are  blue,  the  horizon  is  clear;  I  hear  no  cries 
other  than  the  piping  of  the  finch  and  the  distant 
song  of  the  hinds  and  shepherds;  I  see  no  revolution 
save  that  which  the  spring  has  wrought  against  the 
winter." 

"  Amiable  young  heart,  that  sees  and  hears  in 
this  naughty  world  nothing  but  the  images  of  na- 
ture, the  harmonies  of  creation! "  said  the  marquis, 
kissing  Helene's  forehead  with  sincere  emotion. 
"  My  child,"  he  added,  after  a  moment  of  silence, 
"  thirty  years  ago  things  were  going  on  in  the  same 
way.  Like  to-day,  the  fields  were  decking  them- 
selves with  verdure  and  with  flowers,  the  shepherds 
were  piping  on  the  hills,  the  finches  whistled  under 
the  budding  leaves;  your  mother,  my  child,  your 
beautiful,  noble  mother  was,  like  you,  the  minister- 
ing angel  of  the  country-side.  And  yet  we  had  to 
fly.  Believe  my  long  experience,  the  future  is 

250 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

gloomy  and  menacing.  It  is  generally  under  serene 
skies  that  men's  anger  breaks  forth  and  that  the 
bolts  of  revolution  are  sped.  But  even  supposing 
the  danger  to  be  still  far  off;  admitting  that  I  have 
time  enough  to  die  under  the  roof  of  my  fathers — 
can  I  die  in  peace  in  the  thought  that  I  am  leaving 
you  alone,  without  help  or  support,  in  the  midst  of 
the  storm  and  chaos?  When  I  am  no  longer  here, 
what  will  become  of  my  darling  girl?  Will  M.  de 
Vaubert  be  able  to  protect  you  in  that  time  of  ter- 
ror? Unhappy  children,  you  both  have  a  name 
that  will  attract  the  thunder-bolts.  In  marrying, 
you  will  but  double  your  chances  of  fatality;  you 
will  only  be  a  burden  to  one  another,  an  added  dan- 
ger; each  of  you  will  have  two  fates  against  you  in- 
stead of  one;  you  will  each  expose  the  other  to  the 
fury  of  popular  hatred.  I  was  talking  it  over  kindly 
the  other  evening  with  the  baronne.  In  our  solici- 
tous alarm,  we  were  wondering  mutually  whether  it 
were  prudent  and  wise  to  pursue  these  matrimonial 
projects." 

At  these  words  Helene  trembled,  and  turned 
upon  her  father  the  eyes  of  a  frightened  fawn. 

"  I  even  seemed  to  see,"  pursued  M.  de  la  Sei- 
gliere, "  that  the  baronne  would  not  be  averse  to 
giving  back  my  promise  and  reclaiming  her  own. 
'  Marquis,'  she  said  with  the  reasonableness  that 
never  deserts  her,  '  is  not  marrying  these  two  chil- 

251 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seiglierc 

dren  like  setting  two  doomed  vessels  to  save  each 
other?  Singly,  they  each  have  a  chance,  respective- 
ly, of  escaping;  they  must  inevitably  perish  if  their 
fortunes  are  united.'  That  is  what  Raoul's  mother 
said.  I  ought  also  to  tell  you  that  it  is  the  advice 
of  the  famous  Des  Tournelles,  an  old  friend  of  our 
family,  who,  without  having  seen  you,  takes  the 
greatest  interest  in  your  affairs.  '  Marquis,'  said  this 
great  jurist,  one  of  the  profoundest  minds  of  our 
time,  to  me  one  day,  '  to  marry  your  daughter  to 
young  De  Vaubert  is  to  seek  shelter  for  her  in  a 
storm  beneath  an  oak  tree  in  the  middle  of  the 
plain;  it  is  calling  down  the  fire  of  heaven  upon  her 
head.' " 

"  Father,"  replied  the  young  lady  with  cold  dig- 
nity, "  M.  des  Tournelles  has  nothing  to  do  with 
this  affair;  I  hardly  see  that  Mme.  de  Vaubert  .her- 
self can  have  the  right  to  disengage  my  hand  from 
that  of  her  son.  M.  de  Vaubert  and  I  are  plighted 
before  God  to  one  another.  I  have  his  promise,  he 
has  mine.  God,  who  received  our  oaths,  can  alone 
absolve  us  from  them." 

"  Far  from  me  be  the  thought,"  cried  the  mar- 
quis, "  of  wanting  to  preach  treason  and  perjury  to 
you.  I  only  think  that  you  are  exaggerating  the 
gravity  and  solemnity  of  the  engagements  that  bind 
you.  You  and  Raoul  are  betrothed,  neither  more 
nor  less;  for,  as  they  say  in  the  country,  betrothal 

252 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  marriage  are  twain.  As  long  as  it  has  not  been 
consecrated  by  the  sacrament,  it  is  always  possible 
to  obtain  release  by  mutual  desire  without  falling 
short  in  the  sight  of  God  or  forfeiting  honour.  Be- 
fore I  married  your  mother  I  had  been  betrothed 
nine  times,  the  ninth  when  I  was  thirteen  years  of 
age,  the  first  when  I  was  seven.  Besides,  my  Helene, 
I  should  take  good  care  not  to  cross  your  inclina- 
tions. I  can  well  imagine  that  you  cling  to  young 
De  Vaubert.  You  were  both  brought  up  in  exile 
and  poverty;  it  may  seem  sweet  to  you  to  return 
to  it  together.  At  your  age,  dear  child,  there  is  no 
perspective  so  sad  that  it  cannot  be  enlivened, 
charmed,  and  illuminated  by  passion.  To  be  two, 
to  suffer,  and  to  love  makes  up  the  happiness  of 
youth.  And  yet  I  have  remarked  that  these  attach- 
ments, formed  so  near  the  cradle,  miss  an  indescrib- 
able something  of  the  charm  of  love.  I  do  not  claim 
to  be  an  expert  in  matters  of  sentiment,  and  yet  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  one  loves  little 
what  one  knows  well.  For  the  rest,  our  young 
baron  is  an  amiable  and  gracious  cavalier,  a  little 
cold,  a  little  stiff — somewhat  of  a  cipher,  if  I  must 
say  the  word — but  as  white  as  a  lily,  as  red  as  a 
rose.  He  has  not  hardened  his  hands  with  labour, 
the  enemy's  fire  has  not  bronzed  his  face.  In  par- 
ticular, he  has  a  mode  of  arranging  his  hair  that  has 
always  charmed  me." 

253 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  M.  de  Vaubert  is  an  honourable  gentleman, 
father,"  replied  Helene  gravely. 

"  I  think  so,  pardieu!  Yes,  a  good  boy,  who 
has  never  got  himself  talked  about;  a  modest  hero, 
who  will  never  weary  any  one  with  the  tales  of  his 
victories.  Ventre-saint-gris,  daughter,"  cried  the 
marquis,  suddenly  changing  his  tone,  "  it  is  a  sad 
thing  to  say,  but  it  must  be  said:  our  young  gentle- 
men of  to-day  appear  to  think  it  beseems  only  the 
little  people  to  do  great  things.  In  my  time  the 
young  nobles  acted  differently,  Dieu  merci!  I  who 
speak  to  you — well,  certainly  I  never  saw  any  right- 
ing, but  by  the  sword  of  my  fathers,  when  it  was 
my  duty  to  show  myself,  I  showed  myself,  and  they 
still  speak  of  me  at  the  court  as  one  of  the  first 
among  the  faithful  who  hastened  to  protest,  by  their 
presence  abroad,  against  the  enemies  of  our  ancient 
monarchy.  See,  my  daughter,  this  is  what  your 
father  did;  if  I  did  not  cover  myself  with  laurels  in 
the  army  of  Conde,  it  was  because  it  cost  me  too 
dear  to  gather  palms  watered  with  the  blood  of 
France." 

"  But,  father,"  said  Helene  in  a  hesitating  voice, 
"  it  is  not  M.  de  Vaubert's  fault  if  he  has  lived  till 
now  in  inaction  and  obscurity;  if  he  had  the  heart 
of  a  lion,  he  would  not  be  able  to  give  battle  by 
himself." 

"Bah,  bah!"  cried  the  marquis;  "souls  athirst 
254 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

for  glory  can  always  find  a  means  of  quenching  their 
desire.  For  myself,  when  I  emigrated,  I  was  on  the 
point  of  going  to  fight  against  the  Mohicans;  if  I 
landed  in  Germany  instead  of  America,  it  was  be- 
cause I  understood,  in  the  hour  of  danger,  that  I 
owed  myself  to  our  beloved  France.  Look  at  young 
Bernard.  He  is  not  yet  twenty-eight;  well,  he  al- 
ready wears  a  ribbon  at  his  buttonhole.  He  has 
entered  the  capitals  of  Europe  as  a  conqueror;  he 
got  himself  killed  at  Moskowa.  He  was  barely 
twenty  years  old  when  the  Emperor,  who  is  no  fool, 
whatever  they  may  say,  took  notice  of  him  at  the 
battle  of  Wagram.  What  I  am  saying,  child,  is  not 
meant  to  detach  you  from  Raoul.  I  do  not  owe 
him  any  grudge  for  being  a  good-for-nothing.  To 
begin  with,  he  is  a  baron;  at  his  age,  that  is  enough 
in  itself.  After  all,  one  must  not  be  too  ex- 
acting." 

"  Father,"  said  Helene,  who  was  becoming  more 
and  more  agitated,  "  M.  de  Vaubert  loves  me;  he 
has  my  promise,  and  for  me  that  is  enough." 

"As  to  that,  he  may  love  you;  I  believe  it 
the  rather  that  I  have  never  seen  a  sign  of  it; 
hidden  fires  are  the  most  redoubtable;  only  I 
know  that  in  his  place  I  should  not  have  gone 
off  to  amuse  myself  in  Paris  the  very  day  after 
this  young  hero  had  installed  himself  under  your 
roof." 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Father — "  exclaimed  Helene,  blushing  like  a 
pomegranate. 

"  It  is  true  that  Raoul  sends  you  a  letter  once 
a  month.  I  have  only  read  one — a  nice  style,  amber 
paper,  good  spelling,  exact  punctuation;  but,  vwt 
Dieut  daughter,  I  must  beg  you  to  believe  that  in 
my  time  we  did  not  write  thus  to  the  tender  object 
of  our  passion." 

"  Father — "  repeated  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  in  a 
pleading  voice,  but  half  smiling. 

Whereupon,  judging  the  place  sufficiently  dis- 
mantled, the  insidious  marquis  returned  to  his  first 
batteries.  He  pointed  out  that  in  this  time  of  ordeal 
the  only  chance  of  escape  for  the  aristocracy  was 
to  contract  alliances  beneath  its  rank.  He  played 
off  upon  his  daughter  the  role  that  the  malicious 
Des  Tournelles  had  played  on  him  some  few  months 
before.  He  depicted  himself  as  once  more  poor,  in 
exile,  proscribed,  beggared  like  Belisarius,  dying  far 
from  his  country.  Once  more  he  brought  the  tears 
to  Helene's  eyes;  then,  by  a  skilful  transition,  he 
began  to  speak  of  old  Stamply;  he  dwelt  with  emo- 
tion upon  the  probity  of  his  ancient  farmer,  and  re- 
gretted that  he  had  not  sufficiently  recompensed  him 
in  his  lifetime.  He  knew  how  to  awaken  the  scru- 
ples of  this  young  heart  without  awakening  its  sus- 
picions. From  father  to  son  was  but  a  step.  He 
praised  Bernard,  representing  him  alternately  as  a 

256 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

dike  against  the  fury  of  the  tempest  and  as  a  shelter 
from  the  storm.  In  short,  from  one  subterfuge  to 
another,  step  by  step,  hand  over  hand,  he  arrived 
imperceptibly  at  his  end,  which  was  to  ask  himself 
aloud  in  the  guise  of  a  reflection  whether,  in  these 
evil  days,  an  alliance  with  the  Stamplys  might  not  be 
more  advantageous,  and  offer  greater  security  to 
the  La  Seiglieres  than  an  alliance  with  the  De  Vau- 
berts.  The  marquis  had  reached  this  point  in  his 
discourse  when  he  suddenly  interrupted  himself  on 
seeing  Helene  so  pale  and  trembling  that  he  thought 
he  had  killed  her. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  marquis,  taking  her  in 
his  arms,  "  I  am  not  an  executioner.  Have  I  spoken, 
like  Calchas,  of  dragging  you  to  the  sacrifice  and 
immolating  you  on  the  steps  of  the  altar?  Deuce 
take  it,  you  are  not  Iphigenia,  I  am  not  Agamem- 
non! We  are  talking,  arguing,  nothing  more.  I 
quite  understand  that  the  first  idea  of  a  mesalliance 
must  shock  and  revolt  a  La  Seigliere;  but,  my  child, 
I  urge  it  again;  think  of  yourself,  think  of  your  old 
father,  think  of  the  devotion  of  Mile,  de  Sombreuil. 
This  young  Bernard  is  not  a  gentleman;  but  who  is 
a  gentleman  nowadays?  In  twenty  years  no  one  will 
even  stoop  to  pick  up  a  title.  I  wish  you  could  hear 
M.  des  Tournelles  talk  on  this  subject.  '  He  who 
serves  his  country  well  needs  no  ancestors/  said  the 
sublime  Voltaire.  Besides,  there  have  been  mesalli- 

257 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ances  in  every  generation.  The  great  families  only 
live  and  perpetuate  themselves  by  mesalliances.  To 
take  the  Normans:  a  king  of  France — Charles  the 
Simple — married  his  daughter  Gisela  to  one  Rollo, 
who  was  only  a  leader  of  vagabonds,  thereby  show- 
ing that  he  was  less  simple  than  history  makes  out. 
Quite  recently  a  soldier  of  fortune  was  married  to  a 
daughter  of  the  Caesars.  And,  further,  it  will  have 
a  good  effect  on  the  country  if  you  marry  a  Stam- 
ply;  people  will  see  that  we  are  not  ungrateful;  they 
will  say  that  we  know  how  to  appreciate  a  good 
action.  For  my  part,  when  I  get  up  yonder  and 
find  myself  face  to  face  with  the  old  farmer,  well, 
I  confess  that  it  would  not  be  disagreeable  to  be 
able  to  announce  to  the  good  man  that  his  probity 
has  received  its  earthly  reward,  and  that  our  two 
families  will  make  one  henceforward.  That  will 
please  the  worthy  man,  too,  for  he  adored  you,  He- 
lene;  you  were  a  couple  of  friends.  Did  he  not  even 
sometimes  call  you  his  daughter?  At  that  rate  he 
ranks  among  the  prophets." 

The  marquis  had  been  talking  like  this  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  endeavouring  to  overcome  his 
daughter's  repugnance  by  displaying  every  trick  and 
turn  and  subtlety  he  had  learned  in  the  school  of  the 
baronne,  when  Helene,  who  had  slipped  gradually 
out  of  her  father's  arms,  fled  all  at  once  as  rapidly 
and  lightly  as  a  bird  on  the  wing.  The  marquis  was 

258 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

left  open-mouthed  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence;  he 
saw  her  run  across  the  lawn  and  disappear  amid  the 
trees  of  the  park. 

After  following  her  for  a  long  time  with  his  eyes, 
the  marquis  asked  himself,  as  he  tapped  his  forehead 
with  an  air  of  reflection:  "  Is  it  possible  that  my 
daughter  is  in  love  with  the  hussar?  That  she  should 
marry  him  one  can  understand;  but  that  she  should 
love  him — ventre-saint-gris ! " 


259 


CHAPTER   XII 

AND  why  did  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  escape  thus 
suddenly  from  the  arms  of  her  father?  Why  did  her 
countenance  assume  the  pallor  of  death  some  few 

moments  before?    Why  did  the  blood  course  back 

» 

instantly  and  violently  towards  her  heart?  Why, 
when  the  marquis  was  trying  to  convince  her  of  the 
necessity  of  an  alliance  with  Bernard,  did  she  escape, 
agitated,  trembling,  confused — and  yet  lively,  happy, 
and  light-hearted?  When  she  reached  the  bottom 
of  the  park  she  let  herself  sink  upon  a  mound,  while 
the  tears  ran  silently  down  her  cheeks  like  liquid 
pearls,  like  drops  of  dew  upon  the  perfumed  petals 
of  a  lily.  Thus  love  and  happiness  veil  their  first 
smile  in  tears,  as  though  at  birth  they  had  some  in- 
stinct of  their  fragility,  and  knew  that  they  were 
born  to  suffering. 

It  was  now  the  end  of  April.  The  park  not  being 
large  enough  to  satisfy  the  intoxication  of  her  spirit, 
Helene  rose  and  went  out  into  the  country.  The 
ground  beneath  her  feet  was  covered  with  flowers; 
the  blue  sky  smiled  above  her  head;  life  was  singing 
in  her  veins.  She  had  forgotten  Raoul,  and  scarcely 

260 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

gave  a  thought  to  Bernard.  She  roamed  about,  ab- 
sorbed in  vague,  mysterious,  enchanting  thoughts, 
pausing  here  and  there  to  breathe  in  the  perfume, 
and  giving  thanks  to  God  for  the  joy  that  flooded 
every  instinct  of  her  soul.  As  we  have  already  said, 
she  was  as  serious  as  she  was  tender,  and  profoundly 
religious. 

It  was  not  till  the  sun  was  low  upon  the  hori- 
zon that  Helene  thought  of  making  her  way  back 
to  the  chateau.  In  returning,  she  paused  a  moment 
on  the  brow  of  the  hill  she  had  climbed  up,  when, 
as  she  was  preparing  to  descend,  she  espied  Bernard, 
on  horseback,  riding  along  the  valley.  She  trembled 
a  little,  and  her  troubled  gaze  followed  him  for  a 
long  way  through  the  plain.  She  came  back  reflect- 
ing on  the  destiny  of  this  young  man,  whom  she  be- 
lieved to  be  poor  and  disinherited.  For  the  first  time 
Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  felt  pride  and  pleasure  in  the 
sight  of  her  father's  mansion,  as  it  lay  bathed  in  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  in  a  sea  of  verdure  rippled 
by  the  evening  breezes.  Yet,  as  she  perceived  the 
little  Castel  de  Vaubert  on  the  opposite  bank,  frown- 
ing and  gloomy  behind  the  rampart  of  oaks,  whose 
boughs  had  not  yet  put  forth  their  spring  livery,  she 
could  not  avoid  a  feeling  of  sadness  and  alarm,  as 
though  foreseeing  it  to  be  from  this  quarter  that  the 
thunder-bolt  that  was  to  blast  her  life  would  be 
hurled. 

261 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

Nor  had  she  long  to  anticipate  the  bolt.  As  she 
stepped  over  the  threshold  of  the  park  gate  she  was 
met  by  a  servant  of  the  baronne,  who  delivered  her 
a  packet,  sealed  with  the  triple  seal  of  the  De  Vau- 
bert  arms.  When  she  recognised  the  writing  of  the 
young  baron,  who  had  returned  the  night  before, 
unknown  to  Helene,  the  poor  child  grew  pale  and 
tore  the  envelope  open  with  a  trembling  hand,  when 
she  found,  amid  her  own  letters  returned  to  her  by 
Raoul,  a  note  from  that  young  gentleman.  Helene 
perused  its  recently  blotted  pages,  the  ink  of  which 
was  hardly  dry,  and,  having  read  it  on  the  spot,  re- 
mained thunder-struck,  as  though  a  bolt  from  heaven 
had  really  fallen  at  her  feet. 

Like  the  automata  that  appear  and  disappear  at 
the  will  of  the  operative  who  presses  a  spring,  M. 
de  Vaubert  had  returned,  as  he  had  left,  at  a  word 
from  his  mother,  with  the  same  smile  upon  his  lips, 
the  same  knot  in  his  cravat.  Without  being  in  any 
sense  a  phoenix,  he  was,  taking  him  all  round,  an 
upright  gentleman,  honest  and  single-minded  at 
heart.  Not  only  had  he  neVer  taken  part  in  his 
mother's  intrigues,  but,  thanks  to  the  modicum  of 
intelligence  and  perspicacity  bestowed  on  him  by 
Heaven,  he  had  never  even  suspected  them.  Up  till 
now  he  had  naively  thought,  like  Helene,  that  old 
Stamply,  in  despoiling  himself,  had  merely  restored 
to  the  La  Seiglieres  the  property  that  did  not  be- 

262 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

long  to  him,  and  that,  in  doing  this,  the  old  man 
had  simply  obeyed  the  dictates  of  his  conscience. 
Raoul  had  never,  to  tell  the  truth,  paid  much  at- 
tention to  this  affair,  and  had  only  seen  its  results, 
which,  honestly  speaking,  did  not  displease  him.  A 
poor  man,  he  was  born  with  a  taste  for  opulence, 
and  saw  no  harm  in  framing  a  lovely  picture  to  the 
tune  of  a  million.  At  the  same  time,  he  loved  He- 
lene  less  for  her  fortune  than  for  her  beauty ;  he  loved 
her  after  his  fashion,  coldly  but  nobly,  without  pas- 
sion, but  without  calculation.  Besides,  he  knew  the 
value  of  a  promise  given  and  received;  the  breath 
of  viler  interests  had  never  rubbed  the  bloom  off  his 
youth  and  honour.  When  he  was  informed  of  what 
had  happened  in  his  absence,  of  the  miraculous  resur- 
rection of  young  Stamply,  of  his  return  to  the  coun- 
try, his  installation  at  the  chateau,  his  incontestable 
rights,  which  inevitably  involved  the  total  ruin  of 
the  marquis  and  his  family,  M.  de  Vaubert  did  not, 
as  may  be  imagined,  indulge  in  any  great  transports 
of  enthusiasm.  His  face  lengthened  considerably, 
and  the  play  of  his  countenance  expressed  only 
mediocre  satisfaction;  but  when,  after  posting  him 
in  the  exact  state  of  affairs,  Mme.  de  Vaubert  asked 
her  son  resolutely  what  part  he  intended  to  take  at 
this  crisis,  the  young  man  drew  himself  up  and  did 
not  hesitate  for  an  instant.  He  declared  simply, 
without  effort  and  without  enthusiasm,  that  the  ruin 

263 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

of  the  marquis  did  not  make  the  slightest  alteration 
in  the  engagements  he  had  contracted  with  the 
daughter,  and  that  he  was  as  ready  now  as  before 
to  marry  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere. 

"  I  expected  no  less  from  you,"  replied  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  proudly;  "  you  are  my  worthy  son.  Unfor- 
tunately, this  is  not  all.  The  marquis,  in  order  to 
preserve  his  wealth,  has  determined  to  marry  his 
daughter  to  Bernard." 

"  Well,  mother,"  returned  M.  de  Vaubert,  with- 
out showing  any  sign  of  emotion,  "  if  Mile,  de  la 
Seigliere  feels  that  she  can  withdraw  her  hand  from 
mine  without  forfeiting  her  honour,  let  Mile,  de  la 
Seigliere  be  free  to  do  so,  but  I  shall  only  cease  to 
consider  myself  engaged  to  her  when  she  shall  the 
first  have  ceased  to  consider  herself  engaged  to  me." 

"  You  have  a  noble  nature,"  cried  the  baronne 
with  a  gesture  of  satisfaction,  as  she  perceived  that 
the  affair  was  going  to  turn  out  as  she  had  intended. 
"  Write,  then,  to  that  effect  to  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere. 
Be  dignified,  but  be  also  affectionate,  so  that  they 
may  not  suppose  you  have  written  merely  to  satisfy 
your  conscience.  When  that  is  done,  and  whatever 
happens  afterward,  you  will  have  worthily  fulfilled 
the  duties  of  a  faithful  lover  and  a  gallant  gentle- 
man." 

Without  more  delay,  M.  de  Vaubert  placed  him- 
self at  the  bureau,  and  wrote  the  following  lines  upon 

264 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

a  pretty  note-paper  he  had  brought  back  from  Paris, 
cream-laid,  scented  with  musk,  stamped  with  the 
arms  of  the  family — lines  to  which  the  baronne,  after 
glancing  through  the  letter,  gave  her  maternal  ap- 
probation, although  she  would  have  wished  to  find 
more  passion  and  tenderness.  Thus  were  hostilities 
declared.  In  the  hands  of  the  adroit  baronne,  this 
double  sheet  of  shining,  embossed,  and  perfumed 
paper,  covered  on  the  first  page  with  a  fine  English 
caligraphy,  was  nothing  less  than  a  bomb  which, 
when  thrown  into  the  fortress,  was  destined  to  do 
damage  that  had  been  foreseen  and  calculated,  the 
effect  of  which  was  almost  certain. 

"  MADEMOISELLE:  I  have  just  arrived,  and  I 
learn  simultaneously  of  the  revolution  that  has  trans- 
pired in  your  destiny,  and  the  new  measures  adopted 
by  your  father  to  replace  the  inheritance  of  his  an- 
cestors upon  your  head — since  he  has  been  deprived 
of  it  by  the  return  of  the  son  of  his  quondam  farmer. 
That,  to  this  end,  M.  le  Marquis  should  have  taken 
upon  himself  to  disjoin  two  hands  and  two  hearts 
united  ten  years  ago  before  God,  is  a  matter  to  be 
judged  by  God  alone;  I  abstain  from  doing  so.  Nor 
for  the  rest  is  it  meet  that  poverty  should  set  itself 
in  the  scales  against  fortune.  Only,  it  pertains  to 
my  honour,  and  that  far  less  than  to  my  love,  to 
declare  to  you,  mademoiselle,  that  if  you  do  not 

265 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

share  the  sentiments  of  your  father  in  this  matter, 
and  do  not,  like  him,  think  that  an  oath  sworn  is 
merely  an  idle  word,  I  shall  be  as  happy  to  share 
my  modest  conditions  of  life  with  you  as  you  would 
have  been  to  share  your  luxury  and  opulence  with 
me.  To  this  confession,  the  sincerity  of  which  you 
will  not  outrage  me  by  doubting,  I  shall  add  no 
further  word;  henceforward  it  is  for  you  alone  to 
decide  on  your  fate  and  my  own.  If  you  reject  my 
humble  offering,  take  back  these  letters,  which  are 
no  longer  my  property;  I  will  suffer  without  com- 
plaint or  murmur.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  con- 
sent to  come  and  embellish  my  life  and  home,  send 
back  these  precious  pledges.  I  shall  fold  them  with 
joy  and  gratitude  to  my  faithful  and  devoted  heart. 

"  RAOUL." 

Thus  violently  confronted  with  reality,  Helene 
hesitated  no  more  than  Raoul  had  hesitated.  When 
she  emerged  from  the  kind  of  stupor  into  which  she 
had  fallen  after  reading  these  few  lines,  she  hurried 
to  her  room,  where,  inflexibly  stifling  the  dream  that 
had  lasted  scarce  an  hour — a  ray  extinguished  as 
soon  as  perceived,  a  flower  broken  at  the  moment  of 
its  bloom — she  took  a  pen  to  write  herself,  sign  the 
death-warrant  of  her  own  happiness;  not,  however, 
finding  the  courage  for  this,  she  contented  herself 
with  putting  the  letters  into  an  envelope  and  sending 

266 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

them  back  immediately  to  Raoul.  When  that  was 
done,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  could  not 
prevent  herself  from  shedding  a  few  tears,  different 
indeed,  alas!  from  those  that  had  escaped  her  in  the 
morning.  Beneath  the  melancholy  of  a  vague  and 
hardly  defined  regret  she  soon,  however,  felt  a  dumb 
uneasiness  stirring  and  muttering  in  her  breast.  In 
first  glancing  through  the  letter  of  M.  de  Vaubert 
she  had  seen  and  understood  but  one  thing  clearly, 
which  was  that  the  young  man  solemnly  reminded 
her  of  her  pledged  troth,  on  pain  of  perjury  and 
treason;  in  the  exaltation  of  her  conscience  Helena 
had  overlooked  the  rest.  But  once  calmed  by  her 
sacrifice,  her  mind  more  tranquil,  her  senses  quieted, 
she  little  by  little  recollected  certain  expressions  in 
the  letter  of  her  fiance,  on  which  she  had  not  dwelt 
at  first,  but  which  had  left  a  confused  and  painful 
impression  upon  her. 

As  these  memories  surged  up  and  became  more 
and  more  distinct,  she  suddenly  drew  Raoul's  note 
out  from  between  her  dress  and  sash,  where  she  had 
slipped  it,  doubtless  to  strengthen  and  protect  her 
heart;  after  reading  it  once  more  attentively,  after 
measuring  each  word  and  weighing  each  sentence  to 
obtain  its  full  meaning,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  read  it 
yet  once  more;  then,  passing  insensibly  from  surprise 
to  reflection,  she  ended  by  losing  herself  in  profound 
meditation. 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

She  was  a  single-minded,  pious,  and  fervent  crea- 
ture, an  immaculate  soul  that  had  never  touched  the 
mire  of  life  with  even  the  tips  of  its  pinions.  She 
cherished  all  manner  of  illusions.  She  believed  in 
good  naturally,  without  effort,  and  had  never  sus- 
pected evil.  To  tell  the  truth  in  a  word,  her  artless 
candour  was  so  great  that  she  had  never  even  sus- 
pected the  loyalty,  good  faith,  and  disinterestedness 
of  Mme.  de  Vaubert  herself.  And  yet,  since  the 
arrival  of  Bernard,  she  had  vaguely  understood  that 
something  equivocal  and  mysterious  was  going  on 
around  her.  Though  her  nature  was  neither  curious 
nor  suspicious,  she  had  been  dimly  preoccupied  with 
this,  more  especially  since  her  father  had  become  so 
altered  and  depressed  in  temper — he  who  had  always, 
even  in  the  depths  of  exile,  been  joyous,  smiling, 
frivolous,  and  charming.  She  had  been  astonished 
at  the  sudden  disappearance  of  Raoul,  and  at  his 
prolonged  absence,  no  sufficient  reason  for  which 
had  been  given  her;  she  had  not  failed  to  remark 
the  sudden  changes  that  had  all  at  once  taken  place 
in  the  social  arrangements  of  the  marquis  and  the 
baronne,  from  the  day  that  Bernard  had  begun  to 
share  the  family  life ;  while,  lastly,  she  had  often  asked 
herself,  in  hours  of  trouble  and  perplexity,  how  it  was 
that  this  young  man,  in  the  heyday  of  life,  could  so 
long  accept  those  precarious  and  humiliating  condi- 
tions instead  of  trying  to  make  himself  an  inde- 

268 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

pendent  position,  as  beseemed  his  energetic,  haughty 
character.  What  was  happening?  Helene  did  not 
know,  but  it  was  evident  that  something  strange 
was  going  on  which  they  were  endeavouring  to  hide 
from  her.  The  letter  of  the  young  baron  was  like 
a  flash  in  a  dark  night.  If,  in  thinking  it  over,  Mile, 
de  la  Seigliere  did  not  guess  the  whole  truth  in  all 
its  bearings,  at  least  she  saw  it  shining  out  as  a 
luminous  point  which,  while  almost  imperceptible, 
directed  her  in  her  investigations.  Once  on  the  right 
track,  Helene  remembered  certain  unfinished  sen- 
tences that  had  escaped  old  Stamply  in  the  course 
of  his  long  death  agony,  of  which  she  had  vainly 
tried  to  make  out  the  meaning.  She  recollected 
every  detail  of  the  obsequious,  more  than  hospitable, 
welcome  that  had  been  given  to  the  son  on  his  return, 
after  humiliating  the  old  age  of  the  father.  In  short, 
she  passed  the  letter  from  Raoul,  like  a  torch,  over 
all  the  incidents  that  had  characterized  the  return 
of  Bernard.  Going  from  episode  to  episode,  she 
finally  asked  herself  why  the  baronne  had  retired 
from  the  chateau  for  the  last  week  or  more;  why 
M.  de  Vaubert,  instead  of  writing,  had  not  presented 
himself  in  person;  till,  finally,  when  she  came  to  the 
interview  she  had  had  some  hours  previously  with 
her  father,  the  indignant  blood  mounted  up  into  her 
face,  and,  rising  proudly,  she  walked  out  of  the  room 
with  a  firm  step  to  find  the  marquis. 

269 


CHAPTER    XIII 

AT  the  same  hour,  seated  near  a  round  table, 
our  marquis,  waiting  for  his  dinner,  was  engaged 
in  soaking  crumbs  of  biscuit  in  a  glass  of  Spanish 
wine.  Though  his  pride  was  cruelly  wounded,  he 
still  had  a  good  appetite,  and  enjoyed  the  sense  of 
well-being  and  satisfaction  that  comes  from  submit- 
ting to  a  painful  operation  from  which  one  has  long 
shrunk  back.  He  had  done  with  the  baronne;  had 
pretty  well  made  sure  of  his  daughter's  inclinations; 
as  to  Bernard's  feelings,  he  did  not  trouble  himself 
on  that  score.  Little  experienced,  as  he  had  said 
himself,  in  matters  of  sentiment,  the  marquis  under- 
stood enough  to  have  seen  for  some  time  that  the 
hussar  was  not  insensible  to  Helene's  beauty;  be- 
sides, he  would  like  to  see  this  son  of  a  vassal  other 
than  overjoyed  at  mingling  the  blood  of  his  fathers 
with  that  of  his  ancient  seigneurs.  On  that  point 
he  was  easy;  only  he  was  distressed  at  not  encoun- 
tering more  obstacles  and  more  resistance  on  the 
part  of  his  daughter.  The  idea  that  a  La  Seigliere 
could  love  a  Stamply  plunged  him  into  consterna- 
tion impossible  to  describe;  it  was  the  very  dregs  of 

270 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  chalice.  Let  the  hand  make  a  mesalliance,  but, 
vive  Dieu!  one  can  at  least  keep  the  heart  out  of  it, 
he  said  to  himself  indignantly.  On  the  other  hand, 
what  delighted  him  in  the  affair  was  the  effect  which 
the  news  would  have  on  Mme.  de  Vaubert  and  her 
great  booby  of  a  son  in  their  little  castle.  As  he 
reflected  over  it,  the  naughty  marquis  rubbed  his 
hands  and  fell  back  in  his  chair  in  ecstasies  of  mirth; 
remembering  what  the  baronne  had  so  often  re- 
peated to  him,  that  Paris  was  worth  a  mass,  he  ex- 
ploded with  laughter  at  the  thought  that  everything 
was  going  to  end  in  a  mass — in  a  wedding  mass. 

He  was  in  one  of  these  fits  of  merriment  when 
the  door  of  the  salon  opened,  and  Mile,  de  la  Sei- 
gliere entered,  so  grave,  so  proud,  so  truly  regal, 
that  the  marquis,  after  rising  to  embrace  her  in  his 
caressing  arms,  remained  standing  in  confusion  be- 
fore her. 

"  Father,"  said  the  beautiful,  noble  girl,  in  a 
voice  that  was  calm,  though  altered,  "  answer  me 
frankly,  loyally,  as  a  gentleman.  Whatever  you  may 
have  to  reveal  to  me,  be  sure  beforehand  that  you 
will  never  find  me  fall  short  in  the  duties  and  obli- 
gations that  the  protection  of  your  honour  may  im- 
pose upon  me.  Answer  me,  then,  without  equivo- 
cation, I  implore  you  in  the  name  of  the  Living  God, 
in  the  name  of  my  sainted  mother,  who  sees  us  and 
can  hear  us.** 
I3_Vol.  7 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Ventre-saint-gris ! "  thought  the  marquis,  "  this 
beginning  augurs  no  good  for  me." 

"  Father,"  asked  the  young  girl  with  determina- 
tion, "  by  what  right  is  M.  Bernard  living  in  the 
midst  of  us?  " 

"  What  a  question! "  exclaimed  the  marquis, 
growing  more  and  more  alarmed,  but  still  keeping 
a  good  countenance.  "  On  the  footing  of  guest  and 
friend,  I  suppose.  We  owe  so  much  to  the  memory 
of  his  good  father  that  no  one  can  be  surprised  at 
his  sitting  down  to  table  with  us.  By  the  way,"  he 
added,  drawing  from  his  fob  a  gold,  enamelled  watch, 
hung  to  a  chain  laden  with  trinkets,  rings,  and  seals, 
"  is  that  scoundrel  Jasmin  never  going  to  announce 
dinner  to-day?  You  see  this  little  jewel?  "  he  added. 
"  Look  at  it — it  seems  to  be  nothing;  in  fact,  it  is 
hardly  worth  an  ecu.  I  would  not  part  with  it  for 
all  the  diamonds  of  the  crown.  That  is  a  story  I 
must  tell  you.  One  day,  in  17 " 

"  Father,  you  have  another  story  to  tell  me 
now,"  said  Helene  gravely,  interrupting  him  with  a 
high  hand,  "a  more  recent  story,  in  which,  too,  a 
jewel  is  involved,  but  a  more  precious  jewel  even 
than  this  one,  namely,  our  honour.  You  reply  that 
M.  Bernard  is  our  guest,  but,  father,  I  have  still  to 
learn  whether  it  is  he  or  we  that  are  receiving  hos- 
pitality; he  or  we  that  are  dispensing  it." 

At  these  words  and  at  the  look  Helene  directed 
272 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

on  him,  the  marquis,  whiter  than  the  lace  of  his  frill, 
sank  heavily  into  a  chair. 

"All  is  lost!"  he  said  to  himself  in  gloomy  de- 
spair; "  the  infuriated  baronne  has  spoken." 

"  Well,  father,"  resumed  the  young  lady  firmly, 
crossing  her  arms  on  the  back  of  the  chair  into  which 
M.  de  la  Seigliere  had  collapsed,  "  I  ask  if  we  are  the 
guests  of  M.  Bernard,  or  if  the  young  man  is  staying 
with  us?" 

Sick  of  cheating  and  lying,  sure,  moreover,  that 
his  daughter  was  acquainted  with  the  whole  affair, 
the  marquis  now  thought  only  of  amending  the 
truth,  of  mitigating  as  best  he  could  whatever  proved 
too  bitter  for  his  pride  and  self-esteem. 

"  On  my  faith,"  he  cried,  rising  with  an  air  of 
exasperation,  "  if  you  insist  on  my  telling  you,  I 
don't  know  myself.  They  took  advantage  of  my; 
absence  to  draw  up  a  code  of  infamous  laws.  M. 
Bonaparte,  who  never  loved  me,  slipped  in  one  arti- 
cle specially  designed  to  embroil  my  affairs.  And 
the  Corsican  succeeded  well.  Some  say  I  am  in  Ber- 
nard's house,  others  affirm  that  Bernard  is  in  mine; 
some  that  old  Stamply  gave  me  everything,  others 
that  he  restored  all  to  me.  All  this,  you  can  see, 
comes  out  of  the  ink-bottle;  Des  Tournelles  does 
not  know  what  to  think  of  it;  the  devil  would  losd 
his  Latin  over  the  case.  For  the  rest,  my  daughter, 
it  is  as  well  that  you  should  know  that  it  is  that 

273 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

confounded  baronne  who  has  got  us  into  this  mes*. 
Remember  how  happy  we  were  together  in  Ger- 
many! Well,  one  day  Mme.  de  Vaubert — it  is  time 
you  learned  to  know  her — takes  into  her  head  to 
want  me  to  recover  the  fortune  of  my  fathers,  know- 
ing well  that  by  the  terms  of  our  agreement  it  would 
all  revert  to  her  son.  She  writes  that  my  quondam 
farmer  is  devoured  with  remorse,  that  he  is  implor- 
ing me  to  return,  and  will  only  be  able  to  die  in 
peace  when  he  has  made  restitution  of  all  my  prop- 
erty. This  I  believe.  I  take  pity  on  the  distressed 
conscience  of  this  worthy  man,  I  do  not  want  any 
one  to  accuse  me  of  causing  the  death  of  a  soul. 
I  start,  I  hasten,  I  arrive  here,  and  what  do  I  dis- 
cover one  fine  morning?  That  this  worthy  man  has 
restored  me  nothing,  and  that  it  was  a  present  he 
made  over  to  me.  At  least,  that  is  what  my  enemies 
say.  I  have  enemies,  for,  indeed  (as  Des  Tournelles 
observed),  what  eminent  man  has  not?  At  this  pass, 
Bernard,  who  was  believed  to  be  dead,  tumbles  upon 
us  like  an  iceberg  from  Siberia.  What  is  going  to 
happen?  M.  Bonaparte  has  arranged  matters  so 
well  that  it  is  impossible  to  know  how  one  stands. 
Am  I  Bernard's  guest?  Is  Bernard  mine?  I  do  not 
know,  he  does  not  know;  Des  Tournelles  himself 
knows  no  more  than  we  do.  That  is  the  story,  and 
that  is  the  position." 

Hclcne  had  grown  up  outside  the  preoccupations 
274 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

of  real  life.  She  had  no  suspicion  of  the  positive 
interests  that  play  such  a  large  part  in  human  exist- 
ence, which  they  almost  entirely  absorb.  Not  hav- 
ing received  other  teaching  than  that  of  her  father, 
whose  ignorance  was  the  most  complete,  the  most 
serene,  and  the  most  flourishing  of  any  in  the  king- 
dom, Mile,  de  la  Seigliere's  acquaintance  with  the 
law  of  France  was  about  equal  to  her  notions  of 
Japanese  legislation.  Yet  this  child,  who  knew  noth- 
ing, possessed  a  science  greater,  more  sure  and  more 
infallible,  than  that  of  the  cleverest  jurists,  the  most 
consummate  lawyers.  Honest  and  simple  at  heart, 
she  had  retained — as  pure,  as  limpid,  and  as  lumi- 
nous as  when  she  received  it — that  sense  of  justice 
and  injustice  which  God  has  implanted  like  a  ray  of 
his  supreme  intelligence  in  the  breast  of  all  his 
creatures.  She  was  ignorant  of  the  laws  of  man, 
but  the  natural  and  divine  laws  were  written  in  her 
heart  as  upon  tablets  of  gold,  and  no  evil  breath, 
no  wicked  passion,  had  altered  their  meaning  or 
tarnished  the  sacred  characters.  Hence  she  was  able 
instinctively  to  disentangle  the  truth  from  the  clouds 
in  which  her  father  sought  to  envelop  it;  beneath 
the  embroidery  she  was  able  to  trace  the  web.  While 
the  marquis  was  speaking,  Helene  remained  stand- 
ing, calm,  impassive,  pale,  and  cold.  When  he  was 
silent,  she  went  over  and  leaned  on  the  marble  chim- 
ney-piece, where  she  stood  for  a  long  time  in  silence, 

275 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

her  fingers  buried  in  the  meshes  of  her  hair,  staring 
with  dumb  horror  at  the  precipice  into  which  she 
had  been  precipitated  like  a  dove  that  is  mortally 
wounded  as  it  skims  through  the  azure  heavens,  and 
falls,  with  its  wing  broken,  bleeding,  and  palpitating, 
into  the  reeds  of  some  foul  morass. 

"  And  so,  father,"  she  said  at  last,  without  chang- 
ing her  attitude  and  without  turning  her  eyes  towards 
the  unfortunate  gentleman  who,  not  knowing  to 
what  saint  he  could  address  his  prayers,  was  hover- 
ing round  his  daughter  like  a  soul  in  purgatory,  "  so 
this  old  man,  whose  life  ended  sadly  in  loneliness  and 
sorrow,  had  despoiled  himself  to  make  us  rich?  Ah, 
thank  God  that  he  inspired  me  to  love  this  generous 
man,  since  without  that  our  benefactor  would  have 
died  without  one  friendly  hand  to  close  his  eyes!  " 

"  What  was  to  be  done?  "  exclaimed  the  marquis 
in  confusion;  "  the  baronne  showed  horrible  ingrati- 
tude in  all  this.  I  loved  the  old  man;  I  delighted 
in  him;  I  thought  him  a  good  sort;  I  took  real  pleas- 
ure in  seeing  him.  Well,  the  baronne  could  not  en- 
dure him.  In  vain  I  said:  '  Mme.  la  Baronne,  this 
old  Stamply  is  a  fine  fellow;  he  has  done  us  a  good 
turn;  we  owe  him  some  consideration.'  If  I  had 
listened  to  her,  I  should  have  ended  by  turning  him 
out  of  the  house.  The  King  himself  might  have 
begged  me  to  do  that  and  I  would  never  have  con- 
sented." 

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Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  Then,"  resumed  Helene  after  a  further  silence, 
"  when  this  young  man  presented  himself  armed  with 
his  rights,  instead  of  loyally  restoring  him  the  prop- 
erty of  his  father  and  withdrawing  with  a  high  hand, 
we  succeeded  by  our  obsequiousness  in  gaining  his 
consent  to  our  staying  with  him,  to  his  permission 
to  live  under  his  roof.  You  made  an  accomplice 
of  your  daughter,  who  knew  nothing! " 

"  I  wanted  to  go,"  cried  the  marquis.  "  As  soon 
as  Bernard  was  announced  I  took  my  hat  and  cane. 
It  was  the  baronne  who  prevented  me;  it  is  she  who 
has  cheated  us  all;  it  is  she  who  has  destroyed  us." 

Hereupon  Helene  turned  proudly,  ready  to  ask 
her  father  for  some  explanation  of  the  conversation 
they  had  held  together  in  this  very  room,  but  the 
words  expired  upon  her  lips,  her  breast  swelled,  her 
forehead  became  crimson,  and,  flinging  herself  into 
a  chair,  she  burst  into  tears,  choking  with  the  vio- 
lence of  her  sobs.  Was  this  only  the  protest  of  her 
wounded  pride?  Were  the  sighs  of  stifled  love  not 
mingled  with  the  expression  of  offended  dignity? 
The  purest,  the  most  virginal  heart  is  an  abyss  no 
plumb  can  fathom,  whereof  none  has  gauged  the 
depths.  At  sight  of  his  daughter's  despair,  the  be- 
wilderment of  the  marquis  reached  its  height.  He 
cast  himself  down  at  Helene's  knees,  taking  her 
hands,  which  he  covered  with  kisses,  weeping  himself 
like  any  baby. 

277 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"My  child,  my  treasure!"  he  said,  taking  her 
in  his  arms;  "be  calm.  Think  of  your  poor  old  fa- 
ther! do  not  make  him  die  of  sorrow  at  your  feet.  Do 
you  want  to  go?  Let  us  go.  Let  us  live  together 
in  the  woods  like  savages;  if  you  would  rather,  let 
us  go  back  to  our  old  home  in  Germany.  What 
do  I  care  for  fortune,  if  only  you  will  leave  off  cry- 
ing? Fortune!  As  if  I  cared  for  that!  If  I  sell 
my  jewels,  my  watch,  and  my  trinkets,  there  will 
always  be  enough  left  for  my  Helene's  flowers.  Let 
us  go  anywhere.  I  shall  be  well  off  wherever  you 
smile  upon  me.  I  told  you  this  morning  that  I  was 
at  my  last  gasp.  I  was  lying.  I  have  iron  health. 
Look  at  my  calf;  would  you  not  say  that  it  was 
bronze,  cased  in  a  silk  stocking?  This  winter  I  killed 
seven  wolves;  I  tired  o.ut  Bernard  when  he  tried  to 
follow  me,  and  I  hope  to  bury  the  baronne,  who  is 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  younger  than  I — as  she  pre- 
tends, at  least,  for  I  know  her  too  well  now  to  be- 
lieve more  than  half  of  anything  she  says.  Come, 
come;  dry  your  pretty  eyes;  a  smile,  a  kiss,  your  arm 
in  mine,  and,  two  gay  Bohemians,  we  will  drink  to 
poverty." 

"  Ah,  noble  father,  at  last  I  have  you  back ! " 
cried  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  in  a  transport  of  joy.  "  As 
you  say,  let  us  go;  do  not  let  us  stay  longer  here; 
we  have  delayed  here  too  long  already." 

"Go!"  cried  the  frivolous  gentleman,  who  had 

278 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

not  been  enough  on  his  guard  against  his  first  im- 
pulse, and  would  have  given  anything  to  take  back 
the  foolish  words  he  had  just  let  fall.  "Go!"  he 
repeated  in  stupefaction.  "  But,  my  poor  child, 
where  the  devil  do  you  want  to  go  to?  Don't  you 
realize  that  I  am  at  open  war  with  the  baronne,  that 
we  have  not  even  the  resource  left  us  of  growing 
lean  at  her  table  and  shivering  at  her  hearth?  " 

"  If  Mme.  de  Vaubert  repulses  us,  we  will  go 
where  God  leads,"  replied  Helene;  "  but  at  any  rate 
we  shall  feel  that  we  are  pursuing  the  path  of  hon- 
our." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  M.  de  la  Seigliere,  sitting 
down  insinuatingly  at  Helene's  side,  "  it  is  all  very 
well  to  go  where  God  leads  you ;  no  one  could  choose 
a  better  guide.  Unhappily,  God,  who  feeds  and 
shelters  the  little  sparrows,  is  not  so  liberal  to  the 
offspring  of  marquises.  It  is  delightful  to  say,  '  Let 
us  start,  and  go  where  God  leads  us.'  That  attracts 
the  youthful  imagination;  but  when  one  has  started 
and  gone  some  six  leagues,  and  when  one  arrives  in 
the  evening  with  the  prospect  of  sleeping,  supperless, 
in  the  open  starlight,  one  begins  to  think  the  way 
of  God  a  little  hard.  If  I  alone  were  in  question, 
I  should  long  since  have  put  on  the  pilgrim's  sandals 
and  taken  up  the  staff  of  the  exile  again;  but  what 
about  you,  my  Helene?  Cease  this  pious  nursery 
talk;  let  us  converse  reasonably,  calmly,  as  befits  old 

279 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

friends  like  ourselves.  See,  is  there  no  way  of  ar- 
ranging this  little  affair  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  the 
parties  interested?  For  instance,  would  not  what  I 
suggested  this  morning " 

"  It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  both  of  us,"  replied 
Helene  coldly.  "  Do  you  know  what  people  would 
say?  They  would  say  you  had  sold  your  daughter; 
poverty  has  no  right  to  contract  a  mesalliance.  What 
would  M.  de  Vaubert  think,  and  this  young  man  to 
whom  I  made  such  cordial  advances,  believing  him 
to  be  poor  and  disinherited?  While  some  accused 
me  of  treachery,  others  would  suspect  me  of  only 
courting  his  fortune,  and  both  sides  would  despise 
me.  Marquis  de  la  Seigliere,  lift  up  your  head  and 
your  heart ;  your  birth  and  your  poverty  compel  you. 
For  the  rest,  what  is  there  so  alarming  in  the  destiny 
that  has  overtaken  us?  Have  we  no  refuge?  I  can 
vouch  for  M.  de  Vaubert." 

"  But,  ventre-saint-gris! "  cried  the  marquis,  "  I 
tell  you  there  is  war  to  the  death  between  me  and 
the  baronne." 

"The  King  will  help  us,"  said  H&ene.  "He 
must  be  good  and  just  and  great  since  he  is  the 
King." 

"  Well,  yes,  the  King.  He  does  not  even  know 
what  I  have  done  for  him.  The  era  of  great  in- 
gratitude dates  from  the  commencement  of  the  mon- 
archy." 

280 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

"  I  will  go  and  throw  myself  at  his  feet  and  say: 
«  <  Sire '  " 

"  He  will  refuse  to  listen  to  you." 

"Well,  then,  father,"  cried  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere 
firmly,  "  your  daughter  will  be  left  to  you.  I  am 
young  and  courageous;  I  love  you;  I  will  work  for 
you." 

"  Poor  child!  "  said  the  marquis,  kissing  one  after 
the  other  the  hands  of  the  fair  heroine;  "  the  labours 
of  these  pretty  hands  would  not  provide  food  enough 
for  a  lark  in  its  cage.  To  come  back  to  what  I  was 
saying  this  morning,  you  think,  then,  that  it  would 
be  a  slight  on  my  honour  and  on  yours?  I  pique  my- 
self on  having  a  fairly  thin  skin  where  honour  is  con- 
cerned, and  yet  I  do  not  see  things  as  you  do,  my 
Helene.  Let  us  put  the  question  of  society  on  one 
side;  whatever  one  does,  whatever  side  one  takes, 
society  will  always  find  something  to  cavil  at;  only 
a  fool  would  trouble  his  head  about  that.  You  fear 
that  M.  de  Vaubert  will  accuse  you  of  treason  and 
perjury?  Well,  on  that  point  you  may  feel  reas- 
sured. The  baronne  is  too  clever  to  let  her  son  asso- 
ciate himself  with  our  ruin,  although  I  feel  no  doubt 
as  to  Raoul's  disinterestedness;  yet,  between  our- 
selves, he  is  a  great  booby,  whom  his  mother  will 
always  lead  by  the  nose.  And  as  to  Bernard,  why 
should  he  despise  you?  I  agree  that  he  could  not 
in  reason  have  dared  to  love  a  La  Seigliere,  but  pas- 

281 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

sion  does  not  reason,  and  the  boy  loves  you, 
daughter." 

"  He  loves  me? "  said  Helene,  in  trembling  ac- 
cents. 

" Pardifu!"  said  the  marquis,  "he  adores  you!" 

"  How  do  you  know,  father?  "  murmured  Mile, 
de  la  Seigliere  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice,  and  for- 
cing herself  to  smile. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  it,"  thought  the  marquis, 
stifling  a  sigh  of  resignation,  "  my  daughter  loves 
this  hussar. — How  do  I  know?  "  he  cried.  "  My 
youth  is  not  yet  so  long  gone  by  but  that  I  can 
remember  how  these  things  are  carried  on.  When 
he  was  telling  over  his  battles  in  the  winter,  at  the 
fireside,  do  you  think  it  was  for  the  baronne's  good 
looks  that  he  expended  so  much  powder,  such  elo- 
quence, and  such  sabre  cuts?  From  the  first  evening 
you  were  not  there  the  devil  would  not  have  got 
three  words  out  of  him.  Do  you  think  I  did  not 
understand  the  cause  of  his  melancholy,  his  silence, 
and  his  glum  looks?  Did  I  not  see  his  face  clear  up 
when  you  graced  us  with  your  presence  again?  And 
that  day  when  he  exposed  his  limbs  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  Roland,  do  you  think  that  was  not  a 
bit  of  lover's  bravado?  I  say,  he  adores  you.  And 
besides,  if  he  belonged  to  the  royalty  of  France,  I 
would  like  to  know  how  he  could  help  loving  you?  " 

The  marquis  broke  off  to  look  at  his  daughter, 
282 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

who  was  still  listening  to  him.  At  her  father's  words, 
Helene  felt  her  scarcely  stifled  dream  astir  in  her 
breast.  She  sat  there,  pensive,  silent,  forgetting  that 
she  had  rivetted  the  chain  that  bound  her  forever 
to  Raoul,  abandoning  herself  unconsciously  to  the 
insensible  current  that  swept  her  on  to  a  shore  where 
youth  and  love  were  chanting  paeans. 

"  Come,"  said  the  marquis  to  himself,  "  we  shall 
have  two  mesalliances  instead  of  one." 

And  gaily  deciding  on  his  role,  he  was  already 
rubbing  his  hands  when  the  door  of  the  salon  burst 
open,  and  Mme.  de  Vaubert  precipitated  herself  likfi 
a  water-spout  into  the  room,  followed  by  Raoul,  un- 
moved and  serious. 

"Amiable  and  noble  girl!"  exclaimed  the  ba- 
ronne,  stretching  out  her  widely  opened  arms  towards 
Helene,  "  come,  let  me  press  you  to  my  heart.  Ah! 
I  knew  well,"  she  added  with  effusion,  covering  the 
hair  and  forehead  of  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  with  kisses, 
"  I  was  certain  that  your  lovely  character  would  not 
hesitate  a  moment  between  opulence  and  poverty! 
My  son,  embrace  your  wife;  my  daughter,  embrace 
your  husband.  You  are  worthy  of  each  other." 

Speaking  thus,  she  drew  Helene  gently  toward' 
the  young  baron,  who  respectfully  kissed  her  hand. 

"  You  see  them,  marquis,"  she  resumed  with  an 
air  of  being  much  affected;  "  you  see  their  transports. 
And  now  say,  even  if  you  had  an  iron  heart,  if  a 

283 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

she-bear  had  suckled  you,  say  if  you  would  have  the 
courage  to  break  off  such  a  charming  connection? 
In  future  it  is  not  merely  your  honour  that  is  at 
stake;  the  happiness  of  these  two  noble  creatures 
is  involved  also." 

"  By  my  faith,"  said  the  marquis,  whose  stupe- 
faction we  cannot  attempt  to  describe,  "  if  I  under- 
stand anything  of  what  is  going  on,  may  the  deuce 
or  the  baronne  take  me! " 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  said  Raoul,  putting  out  a  loyal 
hand,  "  the  revolutions  have  left  me  but  little  of  the 
fortune  of  my  fathers;  the  little  that  I  have  is  yours." 

"  M.  de  Vaubert,"  said  Helene,  "  you  do  well." 

"  Magnanimous  children! "  exclaimed  the  ba- 
ronne. "  Marquis,  you  are  touched.  Your  eyes  are 
moist,  a  tear  is  creeping  under  your  eyelid.  Why 
do  you  try  to  conceal  the  emotion  that  has  mastered 
you?  Your  limbs  are  giving  way  beneath  you,  your 
heart  is  ready  to  dissolve.  Do  not  steel  yourself; 
let  nature  take  its  course.  It  is  working  in  you,  I 
can  feel  and  see  it.  Your  arms  are  unclosing;  they 
will  open,  they  are  open!  Raoul,  hasten  to  embrace 
your  father,"  she  concluded,  pushing  the  young 
baron  into  the  arms  of  the  marquis,  and  watching 
with  transports  their  somewhat  grudging  embrace. 

"  And  we  too,  dear  old  friend,"  she  cried  in  the 
next  breath,  "  are  we  not  also  to  embrace?  " 

"  Let  us  embrace,  then,"  said  the  marquis. 

284 


Mademoiselle  de  k  Seigliere 

And  while  they  were  in  each  other's  arms,  "  Ba- 
ronne,"  said  the  marquis  under  his  breath,  "  I  do 
not  know  what  you  are  about,  but  I  feel  that  you 
are  plotting  something  abominable." 

"  Marquis,"  returned  the  baronne,  "  you  are  an 
old  roue. — Raoul,  Helene,  you  too,  old  friend,"  she 
then  went  on  effusively,  embracing  them  all  in  one 
glance  and  under  one  compulsion,  "  if  I  dare  believe 
in  the  joy  that  floods  me,  the  manor  of  Vaubert  is 
about  to  become  the  home  of  peace,  of  happiness, 
and  of  mutual  tenderness;  we  are  going  to  realize 
the  sweetest  and  most  enchanted  dream  that  has 
ever  gone  up  from  earth  to  heaven.  We  shall  be 
poor,  but  our  wealth  will  lie  in  the  unity  of  our  souls; 
the  picture  of  our  humble  fortune  will  more  than 
eclipse  the  glamour  of  luxury  and  the  pomp  of  opu- 
lence. How  we  shall  spoil  you,  marquis!  what  love 
and  tender  care  will  surround  your  old  age,  to  make 
you  forget  the  wealth  you  have  lost!  Loved,  cher- 
ished, feted,  caressed,  you  will  come  to  understand 
that  this  wealth  was  little  to  be  regretted;  you  will 
be  astonished  that  you  could  for  a  single  moment 
have  considered  the  possibility  of  buying  it  back  at 
the  price  of  your  honour." 

After  hazarding  some  objections  that  Raoul,  He- 
lene, and  Mme.  de  Vaubert  all  united  in  opposing, 
after  vainly  seeking  some  issue  by  which  he  might 
escape,  harassed,  surrounded,  taken  in  a  snare,  the 

285 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

marquis  at  length  cried  gaily:  "Well,  well,  ventre- 
saint-gris!  it  is  all  one  to  me.  My  daughter  will  be 
Baronne  de  Vaubert,  and  that  old  scoundrel  Des 
Tournelles  will  not  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
a  La  Seigliere  married  to  a  farmer's  son." 

It  was  forthwith  decided  that  the  marquis  should 
as  promptly  as  possible  sign  an  act  of  relinquishment 
in  favour  of  Bernard,  and  that  effected,  should  retire 
with  his  daughter  to  the  little  Castel  de  Vaubert, 
where  they  would  at  once  proceed  with  the  marriage 
of  the  young  couple.  These  matters  arranged,  the 
baronne  took  the  arm  of  the  marquis,  Raoul  offered 
his  to  Helene,  and  the  four  went  off  together  to  dine 
at  the  manor. 


286 


CHAPTER    XIV 

MEANTIME,  what  was  Bernard  about  while  this 
revolution  was  being  effected  at  the  chateau?  He 
was  giving  rein  to  his  horse  in  the  paths  that  follow 
the  Clain,  head,  mind,  and  heart  rilled  with  a  single 
image.  He  was  in  love.  In  this  proud,  untamed 
nature  that  had  not  been  impoverished  by  its  con- 
tact with  the  world,  love  had  not  long  rested  in  the 
phase  of  vague  aspiration,  of  floating  dreams,  of  mys- 
terious suffering;  it  had  forthwith  become  an  ardent, 
energetic,  lively,  and  profound  passion.  Bernard 
belonged  to  the  active  and  turbulent  generation 
whose  youth  had  been  spent  in  camps,  and  who  had 
never  had  the  time  to  dream  of  love.  At  the  age 
of  twenty-seven,  at  the  still  early  hour  by  which  the 
children  of  our  idle  generation  have  foolishly  dis- 
persed their  unoccupied  forces  to  the  winds,  the 
grand  passion  of  glory  alone  had  claimed  him.  Thus 
it  could  easily  have  been  predicted  that  if  ever  the 
germ  of  a  serious  attachment  should  fall  upon  this 
heart,  it  would  absorb  its  sap  and  develop  there  like 
a  vigorous  tree  upon  a  virgin  and  fruitful  soil.  He 
saw  Helene  and  he  loved  her.  By  what  art  could 

287 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

he  have  defended  himself?  She  had  fully  inherited 
the  grace  and  beauty,  the  candour  and  intelligence, 
all  the  elegances  of  her  race  without  sharing  their 
narrow  ideas  and  superannuated  opinions.  With  the 
royal  dignity  of  the  lily,  she  exhaled  its  soft  and 
sweet  perfume;  to  the  poetry  of  the  past  she  joined 
the  serious  instincts  of  our  age.  And  this  noble 
creature  had  come  to  him,  her  hand  outstretched, 
a  smile  upon  her  lips.  She  had  spoken  to  him  of 
his  old  father,  whose  dying  moments  she  had  soothed. 
It  was  she  who  had  replaced  the  absent  son  at  the 
old  man's  bedside,  she  who  had  received  his  last  fare- 
wells, his  latest  sigh.  He  had  lived  her  life,  seated 
near  her  at  table  and  at  the  fireside.  As  she  listened 
to  the  tale  of  the  evils  he  had  suffered,  he  had  seen 
her  lovely  eyes  grow  moist,  he  had  seen  them  sparkle 
as  he  told  the  story  of  his  battles.  How,  in  short, 
could  he  have  helped  loving  her?  He  had  loved  her 
at  first  with  an  uneasy  and  fascinating  love,  akin  to 
every  feeling  that  one  disallows;  then,  when  he  saw 
Helene's  sudden  withdrawal  from  him,  with  a  fierce 
and  silent  love,  akin  to  every  hopeless  passion.  It 
was  at  this  point  that,  questioning  in  the  same  breath 
his  heart  and  his  destiny,  he  had  been  petrified  with 
horror.  He  perceived  in  the  same  flash  that  under 
the  glamour  of  the  charm  he  had  unreflectingly  ac- 
cepted an  equivocal  position;  that  his  honour  towards 
his  brethren-in-arms  was  at  stake;  and  that  to  extri- 

288 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

cate  himself  from  this  coil  he  would  have  to  impov- 
erish, ruin,  and  dispossess  the  woman  he  loved  along 
with  her  father.  How  could  he  make  up  his  mind 
to  this,  he  who  trembled  at  the  mere  thought  that 
his  guests  might  leave  from  one  day  to  the  other  at 
their  own  free  will;  he  who  often  asked  himself  in 
terror  what  he  would  do  alone  in  the  empty  chateau 
if  they  were  seized  with  a  fancy  to  transport  their 
penates  elsewhere?  If  he  loved  Helene  above  all 
else,  it  was  not  she  alone  whom  he  loved.  Even  in 
the  midst  of  his  passionate  rages  he  felt  himself  se- 
cretly drawn  to  the  marquis.  He  had  also  a  kind 
of  affection  for  all  the  details  of  this  domestic  in- 
terior, whose  easy  graces  and  exquisite  urbanity  he 
had  never  even  suspected  previously.  Bernard  had 
not  conceived  the  possibility  of  wedding  Helene,  the 
idea  that  brought  general  reconciliation  and  from 
which  the  old  nobleman  himself  had  not  recoiled. 
Beneath  the  abruptness  of  his  manner,  the  energy 
of  his  character,  the  ardour  that  consumed  him,  he 
concealed  all  the  delicacies  and  all  the  timidity  of  a 
sensitive  organization.  His  consciousness  of  his 
rights  made  him  humble  instead  of  bold;  he  dis- 
trusted his  fortune. 

And  yet,  for  a  week  past,  everything  within  as 
around  him  seemed  to  have  put  on  a  new  aspect. 
Around  him  the  woods  and  meadows  were  growing 
green;  within,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  had  reappeared 

289 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

in  his  life  with  the  return  of  spring  to  the  earth. 
The  recovered  presence  of  Helene,  the  interviews 
recently  held  with  the  marquis,  the  cordial,  almost 
tender  friendship  shown  him  by  the  old  gentleman, 
certain  words  that  had  escaped  him  this  very  morn- 
ing; all  this,  mingling  with  the  warm  breezes,  the 
scent  of  the  hedges,  the  joyous  sunshine,  filled  Ber- 
nard with  a  strange  disturbance,  a  nameless  intoxica- 
tion, that  vague  sense  of  terror  that  is  the  harbinger 
of  happiness. 

Troubled  thus  without  daring  to  ask  himself  the 
reason,  Bernard  was  galloping  home,  for  the  evening 
was  already  closing  in  from  the  hills  and  creeping 
over  the  plain,  when,  as  he  crossed  the  bridge,  he  per- 
ceived the  little  party  making  its  way  to  Vaubert. 
He  pulled  up,  and  in  the  first  place  recognised  Mile. 
de  la  Seigliere  hanging  on  the  arm  of  a  gentleman, 
whom  he  at  once  assumed  to  be  the  young  baron. 
Bernard  did  not  know  Raoul,  and  was  not  aware 
of  the  projected  union,  and  yet  his  heart  sank,  while 
he  regretted  the  sight  of  this  renewed  intimacy  be- 
tween the  marquis  and  the  baronne.  After  following 
the  couples  for  a  long  time  with  an  air  of  chagrin,  he 
rode  on  again  slowly  to  the  chateau,  dined  alone, 
counted  the  hours  sadly,  and  thought  this  solitary 
evening,  the  first  he  had  spent  since  his  return,  would 
never  come  to  an  end.  He  wandered  twenty  times 
round  the  park,  withdrew  discontentedly  to  his  room, 

290 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

and  leaned  from  the  balcony  of  his  window  until  he 
had  seen  M.  de  la  Seigliere  and  his  daughter  passing 
like  two  shadows  beneath  the  trees,  their  voices 
floating  up  to  him  in  the  silence  of  the  night. 

Next  day,  at  the  morning  meal,  he  waited  vainly 
for  Helene  and  her  father.  Jasmin,  when  questioned, 
replied  that  the  marquis  and  his  daughter  had  started 
an  hour  before  for  Vaubert,  telling  the  servants  they 
would  not  be  home  for  dinner.  Throughout  the  day, 
which  passed  even  more  slowly  than  the  previous 
evening,  Bernard  marked  an  unusual  stir  among  the 
servants,  who  came  and  went  alternately  from  the 
chateau  to  the  manor,  the  manor  to  the  chateau, 
as  though  a  new  installation  were  in  progress.  He 
had  a  foreboding  of  some  frightful  misfortune.  At 
one  moment  he  was  tempted  to  go  straight  to  the 
castle;  a  feeling  of  invincible  repugnance,  almost 
of  horror,  had  always  made  him  avoid  it.  Did  he, 
like  Helene,  know  that  the  thunder  already  growl- 
ing on  the  horizon  was  being  forged  there?  He 
struggled  on  half-way,  then,  perceiving  Helene  on 
the  arm  of  Raoul  upon  the  other  bank,  through  the 
silver  foliage  of  the  willows,  and  not  being  able  to 
distinguish  her  enfeebled  walk  and  the  pallor  of  her 
countenance,  he  felt  the  pangs  of  jealousy  gnawing 
like  an  adder  at  his  breast.  His  nature  was  gentle 
and  tender,  but  wild  and  impetuous.  He  went  back 
to  his  room,  took  down  the  pistols  hanging  from 

291 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  frame  of  the  mirror,  examined  them  with  a  fierce 
and  gloomy  eye,  tested  the  lock  with  rough  and 
violent  fingers,  then,  ashamed  of  his  folly,  flung  him- 
self on  his  bed,  and  his  lion's  heart  broke  down. 
Why  he  wept  he  did  not  know.  He  suffered  with- 
out analyzing  the  cause  of  his  suffering,  even  as,  the 
night  before,  he  had  not  known  the  source  of  his 
life  and  happiness. 

The  evening  was  less  stormy.  At  nightfall  he 
began  to  roam  again  in  the  park,  awaiting  the  return 
of  the  marquis.  The  breeze  refreshed  his  brow,  re- 
flection soothed  his  heart.  He  told  himself  that 
nothing  was  changed  in  his  life,  and  came  back  by 
degrees  to  a  better  mind.  He  had  been  seated  for 
some  moments  upon  a  stone  bench,  in  the  very  place 
where  during  the  previous  autumn  he  had  so  often 
with  Helene  watched  the  yellow  leaves  dropping  and 
whirling  in  the  air,  when  all  at  once  the  gravel  of 
the  path  was  stirred  with  a  light  footfall,  the  rustling 
of  a  gown  was  heard  along  the  flowering  hawthorn 
hedge,  and,  raising  his  eyes,  Bernard  was  aware  that 
Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  stood  before  him,  paler,  sadder, 
graver  than  her  wont. 


292 


CHAPTER   XV 

"  M.  BERNARD,  I  was  looking  for  you,"  she  said 
at  once  in  a  calm  and  gentle  voice. 

In  effect,  Helene  had  escaped  in  the  hope  of 
meeting  him.  Knowing  that  she  had  but  two  more 
nights  to  spend  under  the  roof  that  was  no  longer 
her  father's,  seeing  very  well  that  all  connection 
would  in  future  be  broken  off  between  herself  and 
this  young  man,  she  had  come  to  him,  not  from 
weakness,  but  from  a  feeling  of  proud  self-esteem, 
not  wishing  that,  should  he  one  day  discover  the 
tricks  and  intrigues  that  had  been  woven  round  his 
fortune,  he  should  suppose  that  she  had  been  in  any 
way  an  accomplice.  Nor  did  she  conceal  from  her- 
self that  before  parting  she  had  obligations  towards 
him  which  it  was  her  duty  to  fulfil;  that  at  least  she 
owed  a  farewell  to  the  host  who  had  borne  himself 
with  so  much  delicacy  that  she  had  never  even  sus- 
pected his  rights;  at  least  she  had  some  reparation 
to  make  to  this  magnanimous  soul  whom,  in  her 
ignorance,  she  had  even  accused  of  servility.  She 
had  understood  at  last  that  the  young  man  was  en- 
titled to  learn  from  herself  the  fact  of  her  approach- 

293 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

ing  departure,  in  order  to  spare  him  the  humiliation, 
if  not  the  suffering,  of  it. 

"  M.  Bernard,"  she  resumed,  after  seating  herself 
near  him  with  an  emotion  she  did  not  attempt  to 
conceal,  "  in  a  couple  of  days  my  father  and  I  will 
have  quitted  this  park  and  chateau,  which  no  longer 
belong  to  us.  I  did  not  wish  to  leave  before  I  had 
confessed  your  goodness  to  my  old  father  and  how 
profound  will  be  my  recognition  of  it  for  the  re- 
mainder of  my  life.  Yes,  so  good  have  you  been, 
so  generous,  that  only  yesterday  I  did  not  know 
it  myself." 

"  You  are  going  away,  mademoiselle,  going 
away? "  repeated  Bernard  in  a  bewildered  and  in- 
audible voice.  "  But  what  have  I  done?  Perhaps 
I  have  offended  you  in  some  way,  without  knowing 
it — you  or  M.  le  Marquis?  I  am  only  a  soldier,  I 
know  nothing  of  the  manners  of  the  world — but 
stay,  do  not  go  away! " 

"  We  must,"  said  Helene;  "it  is  imperative  both 
for  our  honour  and  for  yours.  If,  in  leaving,  my 
father  is  not  so  affectionate  as  he  ought  to  be,  or 
would  appear,  you  must  forgive  him.  My  father  is 
old;  at  his  age  people  have  their  failings.  You  will 
not  be  angry  with  him;  I  still  feel  rich  enough  to 
be  able  to  add  his  debt  of  gratitude  to  mine  and  to 
acquit  them  both." 

"  You  are  going?  "  repeated  Bernard.  "  But  if 
294 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

you  go,  what  is  to  become  of  me,  mademoiselle?  I 
am  alone  in  the  world;  I  have  neither  relations,  nor 
friends,  nor  family;  I  have  absolutely  separated  my- 
self from  the  few  friendships  I  made  on  first  return- 
ing here  in  order  to  join  my  life  to  yours.  To  stay 
here  with  your  father  I  have  repudiated  my  caste, 
abjured  my  religion,  deserted  my  flag,  denied  my 
brothers-in-arms;  at  this  moment  there  is  not  one 
of  them  but  would  refuse  to  put  his  hand  in  mine. 
If  you  were  to  go,  why  did  you  not  do  so  when  I 
presented  myself  here  for  the  first  time?  I  came 
then  with  my  head  and  heart  full  of  hatred  and 
anger.  I  wanted  revenge,  I  was  ready;  I  hated  your 
father,  you,  and  the  other  aristocrats — I  hated  you 
all.  Then  why  did  you  not  go?  Why  did  you  give 
the  place  up  to  me?  Why  did  you  say  to  me,  '  Let 
us  confound  our  rights,  let  us  make  one  family?  '  And 
now  that  I  have  forgotten  if  I  am  in  your  father's 
house  or  if  your  father  is  in  mine,  now  that  you  have 
taught  me  to  love  what  I  hated,  to  honour  what 
I  used  to  despise,  now  that  the  ranks  in  which  I 
was  born  are  closed  to  me,  now  that  you  have  created 
and  put  into  me  a  new  heart  and  soul,  now  you 
would  go  away,  you  would  fly  from  me  and  aban- 
don me! 

"Thus,  then,  mademoiselle,"  continued  Bernard 
sadly,  raising  his  burning  head,  which  he  had  buried 
for  a  long  while  in  his  hands,  "  I  have  only  brought 

295 

14-Vol.  7 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

disorder,  trouble,  and  misfortune  into  your  exist- 
ence— I  who  would  give  my  life  with  avidity  to  spare 
one  sorrow  from  yours!  Thus  I  have  only  come  into 
your  destiny  like  a  hurricane  to  wither  and  bruise 
it — I  who  would  gladly  shed  all  my  blood  to  make 
one  flower  bloom  for  youl  You  were  here,  calm, 
happy,  smiling,  flourishing  like  a  lily  amid  the  luxury 
of  your  ancestors,  and  I  had  to  come  back  expressly 
from  the  arid  steppes  to  initiate  you  into  the  mis- 
fortunes of  poverty,  I  who  would  gladly  return  to 
my  ice-bound  exile  could  I  but  leave  you  my  share 
of  sunshine." 

"  Poverty  does  not  alarm  me,"  said  Helene;  "  I 
am  acquainted  with  it;  I  have  lived  with  it." 

"  But,  mademoiselle,"  cried  Bernard  impulsively, 
"  how  if,  uplifted  by  despair  as  one  is  in  war  by 
danger,  I  dared  say  to  you  in  my  turn  what  I  have 
not  yet  dared  to  say  to  myself;  if  in  my  turn  I  said 
to  you,  '  Let  us  confound  our  rights  and  form  only 
one  family.'  If,  encouraged  by  your  grace  and  good- 
ness, emboldened  by  the  almost  paternal  affection 
that  has  been  shown  me  by  M.  le  Marquis  in  these 
latter  days,  I  were  to  forget  myself  so  far  as  to 
stretch  out  towards  you  a  trembling  hand — ah, 
doubtless  you  would  repulse  it,  this  soldier's  hand 
still  hardened  with  the  labours  of  captivity,  and  with 
rational  indignation  at  the  idea  that  a  love  so  lowly 
born  should  dare  to  raise  itself  to  you,  you  would 

396 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

heap  on  me  your  contempt  and  anger.  But  if  you 
could  forget,  as  I  should  forget  beside  you,  that  I 
ever  made  any  pretensions  to  the  inheritance  of  your 
fathers;  if  you  could  continue  to  think,  as  I  should 
think  with  you,  the  fortune  yours,  the  poverty  mine; 
and  if  I  then  said  to  you  in  a  voice  of  humble  en- 
treaty, '  Let  me  remain  in  some  corner  where  I  might 
only  see  you  and  admire  you  in  silence;  I  will  be 
neither  troublesome  nor  importunate,  you  will  never 
meet  me  on  your  path  unless  you  summon  me — a 
word,  a  sign,  a  look  from  you  will  send  me  back 
into  my  corner ' — then,  perhaps,  you  might  not  re- 
pulse me,  you  might  take  pity  on  my  trouble;  and  I 
would  bless  this  pity,  I  would  be  prouder  of  it  than 
of  a  regal  crown." 

"  M.  Bernard,"  said  Helene,  rising  with  dignity, 
"  I  know  no  heart  placed  so  high  that  it  can  rival 
your  heart;  I  know  no  hand  that  would  not  be  hon- 
oured by  the  grasp  of  yours.  Here  is  mine;  it  is  the 
farewell  of  a  friend  who  will  remember  you  in  all  her 
prayers." 

"  Ah,"  cried  Bernard,  venturing  for  the  first  and 
last  time,  alas!  to  lift  to  his  lips  the  white  hand  of 
Helene,  "you  are  taking  my  life  with  you;  but, 
noble  girl,  what  is  to  become  of  you  and  of  your 
aged  father?  " 

"  Our  destiny  is  assured,*'  said  Mile,  de  la  Sei- 
gliere, not  realizing  that,  in  her  wish  to  spare  Ber- 

297 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

nard  from  regret,  she  was  giving  the  unhappy  man 
his  death-blow.  "  M.  de  Vaubert  also  has  a  noble 
heart;  he  will  be  as  happy  to  share  his  modest  for- 
tune with  me  as  I  should  myself  have  been  in  shar- 
ing my  opulence  with  him." 

"  Do  you  love  one  another?  "  asked  Bernard. 

"  I  think  I  told  you,"  replied  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere, 
after  an  instant's  hesitation,  "  that  we  had  grown 
up  together  in  exile." 

"  Do  you  love  one  another?  "  repeated  Bernard. 

"  His  mother  replaced  my  mother;  we  were  be- 
trothed in  our  cradles." 

"  Do  you  love  one  another?  "  demanded  Bernard 
yet  once  more. 

"  I  have  pledged  my  word  to  him,"  replied  He- 
lene. 

"Then  farewell!"  returned  Bernard  with  a 
gloomy  air.  "Farewell,  vanished  dream!"  he  mur- 
mured in  a  stifled  voice,  as  his  eyes  followed  Helena 
through  his  tears  while  she  walked,  pensive,  away. 


298 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  next  was  the  day  fixed  for  the  signing  of 
the  act  of  relinquishment.  On  the  stroke  of  mid- 
day the  marquis,  Helene,  Mme.  de  Vaubert,  and  a 
notary  who  had  come  expressly  from  Poitiers,  were 
assembled  in  the  great  salon  of  the  chateau,  where 
there  were  already  signs  of  the  approaching  depar- 
ture. Only  Bernard  had  not  yet  made  his  appear- 
ance. Helene  was  grave  and  dignified;  the  mar- 
quis, glad  to  make  an  end  of  the  matter,  was  as 
lively  as  a  butterfly. 

"  Well,  Mme.  la  Baronne,"  he  cried  gaily,  rub- 
bing his  hands,  "  so  we  are  going  to  live  in  your 
little  castle,  we  are  going  to  resume  the  peaceable 
course  of  our  life  in  Germany  r  It  will  be  delight- 
ful; we  shall  be  able  to  fancy  ourselves  still  in  exile. 
And  it  is  to  you,  most  generous  of  friends,  that  the 
last  of  the  La  Seiglieres  will  be  indebted  for  bread 
and  salt." 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  smiled,  but  betrayed  a  fierce 
preoccupation  in  brow  and  eye. 

Bernard  soon  came  in,  booted  and  spurred,  his 
299 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

riding-whip  in  his  hand.  The  baronne  immediately 
began  to  watch  him  anxiously,  but  no  one  could 
have  guessed  from  the  man's  face  what  might  be 
passing  in  his  soul. 

After  clearly  and  intelligibly  reading  out  the  act 
that  he  had  drawn  up  in  advance,  the  marquis  took 
a  pen,  threw  back  his  cuff  of  English  point,  and 
signed  without  a  frown;  then  with  exquisite  polite- 
ness offered  the  paper  with  the  fiscal  stamp  to  Ber- 
nard. 

"  Sir,"  he  said  with  a  gracious  smile,  "  you  have 
how  authentically  recovered  the  sweat  of  your 
father." 

It  was  the  decisive  moment.  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
turned  pale,  and  directed  a  burning  glance  at  Ber- 
nard. 

Bernard  hesitated;  impassive  and  gloomy,  he 
seemed  to  have  neither  seen  nor  heard  anything.  A 
glimmer  of  triumph  shot  through  the  eyes  of  the 
baronne. 

"  Ventre-saint-gris,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  marquis; 
"  are  you  going  to  make  objections  at  this  time  of 
day?" 

"Noble  young  man!"  murmured  the  baronne 
with  emotion. 

Bernard  trembled,  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly 
awakened,  took  the  sheet  from  the  marquis  with' 
military  promptness,  folded  it  in  four,  slipped  it  into 

300 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  pocket  of  his  overcoat,  which  he  buttoned  again 
at  once,  then  withdrew  gravely  without  saying  a 
single  word. 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  was  left  in  consternation. 

"  Come,"  said  the  marquis  in  a  good  humour, 
"  this  is  a  fine  day's  work  that  will  cost  us  a  million." 

"  Have  I  been  mistaken? "  Mme.  de  Vaubert 
asked  herself,  with  evident  signs  of  preoccupation. 
"  Is  this  Bernard  a  good-for-nothing,  after  all?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu !  how  grave  and  sad  he  looked ! " 
thought  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  to  herself,  shivering 
with  a  vague  presentiment. 

The  day  drew  to  a  close  amid  the  final  prepara- 
tions for  departure.  The  marquis  himself  took  down, 
gaily  enough,  the  venerable  portraits  of  his  ances- 
tors, finding  some  jest  about  each  in  turn,  but  the 
baronne  did  not  laugh.  Helene  was  occupied  in 
putting  together  her  books,  her  embroideries,  her 
albums,  her  palettes,  and  her  sketches.  Bernard  had 
gone  out  riding  immediately  after  the  interview  that 
formally  reinstated  him  in  his  rights;  he  did  not  come 
home  till  long  after  nightfall.  As  he  crossed  the 
park  he  caught  sight  of  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  who 
was  watching  by  her  open  window.  He  stayed  a 
long  while,  leaning  against  a  tree,  absorbed  m  con- 
templation of  her. 

Helene  sat  up  the  whole  night  through,  now 
leaning  over  the  balcony  of  her  window,  gazing  by 

301 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

the  moonlight  at  the  fine  trees  she  was  so  soon  to 
quit  forever,  now  roaming  about  her  room,  bidding 
farewell  to  this  sweet  nest  of  her  girlhood. 

Exhausted  with  fatigue,  she  flung  herself  in  her 
clothes  upon  the  bed  at  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn. 
She  had  slept  uneasily  for  about  an  hour  when  she 
was  suddenly  awakened  by  an  appalling  uproar.  She 
rushed  to  the  window,  and  there,  although  it  was  not 
the  season  for  hunting,  she  beheld  all  the  huntsmen 
of  the  chateau  assembled,  some  on  horseback  and 
blowing  their  horns  as  if  they  wanted  to  waken  the 
dead,  others  holding  the  pack,  which  gave  tongue 
madly  in  the  resonant  morning  air. 

Mile,  de  la  Seigliere  was  beginning  to  ask  herself 
if  all  this  hubbub  was  intended  to  celebrate  the  day 
of  her  exile,  and  why  she  should  be  favoured  with 
this  noisy  and  untimely  serenade,  when  suddenly  she 
gave  a  cry  of  terror  on  seeing  Bernard  appear,  for- 
cing his  way  through  the  pack  between  the  hunts- 
men, who  themselves  seemed  petrified  with  horror — 
Bernard,  booted  and  spurred  as  on  the  previous  day, 
and  riding  Roland.  Gracefully  restraining  the  ex- 
citement of  the  terrible  animal,  he  brought  him,  paw- 
ing, right  under  the  window  to  which  Helene,  paler 
than  death,  was  clinging;  then  he  lifted  his  eyes  to 
the  young  girl,  and,  after  uncovering  respectfully, 
loosed  the  rein,  struck  his  spurs  into  the  animal's 
flanks,  and  went  off  like  the  wind,  followed  at  a  dis- 

302 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

tance  by  the  huntsmen,  to  the  shrill  accompaniment 
of  the  trumpets. 

"  Unhappy  man,"  shrieked  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere, 
wringing  her  hands  in  her  despair,  "  he  means,  he 
wants,  to  kill  himself! " 

She  would  have  run,  but  whither?  Roland  went 
faster  than  the  wind. 

It  had  been  arranged  the  evening  before  that 
Raoul  and  his  mother  should  come  in  the  forenoon 
to  fetch  the  marquis  and  his  daughter,  escort  them 
home,  and  finally  install  them  in  their  new  abode. 
As  Helene  was  preparing  to  leave  her  room  and  go 
to  the  salon,  she  met  Jasmin  on  the  threshold,  who, 
as  the  precursor  of  misfortune,  presented  her  with 
a  sealed  letter  on  a  silver  tray.  Helene  went  hastily 
back  into  her  room,  broke  the  seal,  and  read  these 
lines,  evidently  penned  in  haste: 

"  MADEMOISELLE:  Do  not  go.  Stay.  What  am 
1  to  do  with  this  fortune?  I  could  but  use  it  to  do 
a  little  good.  You  will  accomplish  this  better  than 
I — more  gracefully,  and  in  a  fashion  more  acceptable 
to  God.  Only  I  pray  you  in  your  thoughts  to  let 
me  share  in  half  of  all  your  benefactions;  that  will 
bring  me  a  blessing.  Do  not  trouble  about  my  fate; 
I  am  far  from  being  without  resource.  My  rank, 
my  epaulettes,  and  my  sword  are  left  to  me.  I  shall 
join  the  service  again;  if  it  is  no  longer  the  same 

303 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

flag,  at  least  it  is  still  and  always  France.  Adieu, 
mademoiselle.  I  love  you  and  I  worship  you.  I 
owe  you  a  little  grudge,  however,  for  wanting  to 
burden  me  with  a  million,  but  I  pardon  you,  and 
bless  you,  because  you  loved  my  poor  old  father. 

"  BERNARD." 

In  the  same  envelope  was  an  autograph  will, 
couched  in  the  following  terms: 

"  I  give  and  bequeath  to  Mile.  Helene  de  la  Sei- 
gliere all  the  legitimate  property  I  possess  in  this 
world. 

"  Given  at  my  Chateau  de  la  Seigliere,  April  25, 
1819." 

When  she  entered  the  salon,  where  Mme.  de 
Vaubert  and  her  son  had  just  arrived,  Helene  was 
so  pale,  so  undone,  that  the  marquis  cried  out,  ask- 
ing what  had  happened  to  her?  The  baronne  and 
Raoul  hastened  to  support  her,  but  the  young  girl 
remained  cold  and  dumb. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  marquis,  "  is  your  heart 
failing  you  at  the  last  moment?" 

Helene  made  no  reply. 

The  hour  fixed  for  departure  was  drawing  near. 
The  baronne  still  expected  that  Bernard  would  offer 
some  obstacle,  and  as  nothing  happened  she  found 

304 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

it  difficult  to  conceal  her  bad  humour.  Nor  was  the 
young  baron,  on  his  side,  in  transports  of  enthusiasm. 
And  lastly,  chilled  by  the  general  atmosphere,  the 
marquis  no  longer  exhibited  the  good  grace  he  had 
manifested  during  the  last  few  days. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  that  fellow  Bernard 
served  us  with  a  bit  of  his  humour  this  morning." 

"  What's  that,  marquis? "  asked  the  baronne, 
pricking  up  her  ears  at  the  name  of  Bernard. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  baronne,  that  cow-herd's 
son  could  not  even  wait  till  we  were  gone  before  he 
took  possession  of  my  property?  At  cock-crow  he 
went  off  hunting,  escorted  by  my  pack,  and  followed 
by  all  my  huntsmen." 

Just  then  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere,  who  had  been 
standing  at  the  open  door  at  the  head  of  the  steps, 
gave  a  frightful  scream  and  fell  back  into  the  arms 
of  her  father,  who  had  only  just  time  to  catch  her. 
Roland  had  flashed  by  in  the  great  drive  like  a  peb- 
ble shot  from  a  sling;  his  saddle  was  empty,  and  the 
stirrups  clapped  against  the  torn  flanks  of  the  ani- 
mal. 

Some  time  after  these  events  a  sufficiently  comic 
scene  took  place  at  the  Chateau  de  la  Seigliere, 
namely,  when  the  malicious  old  lawyer,  whom  you 
will  not  have  forgotten  and  whom  we  have  called 
Des  Tournelles,  came  officiously,  after  Bernard's 

305 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

death,  to  point  out  to  the  marquis  that  he  now  was 
less  than  ever  at  home  there,  and  urged  upon  him 
to  clear  out  at  once,  if  he  did  not  wish  to  expose 
himself  to  the  rigours  of  an  administration  of  the 
demesne.  But  it  is  useless  to  prolong  this  story 
further. 

Two  months  after  the  death'  of  Bernard,  which 
was  naturally  attributed  to  a  mad  freak,  an  incident 
of  another  kind  gave  preoccupation  to  the  minds, 
great  and  small,  fine  and  ugly,  of  the  town  and  coun- 
try-side; this  was  the  entrance  of  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere 
into  the  novitiate  of  the  Convent  of  the  Sisters  of 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  Different  views  were  held 
about  this  event:  some  only  considered  it  the  res'ult 
of  ardent  piety  and  a  fervent  vocation;  others  sus- 
pected a  sprinkling  of  love  other  than  the  love  of 
God.  The  truth  was  more  or  less  nearly  guessed  at, 
but  no  one  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head,  unless  it 
were  the  marquis,  the  rest  of  whose  days  were  poi- 
soned by  the  idea  that  evidently  his  daughter  must 
have  been  in  love  with  the  hussar.  When,  however, 
with  Bernard's  will  in  his  hand,  the  marquis  was  able 
to  prove  his  claim  to  the  vacant  succession  of  the 
administration  of  the  estates,  he  was  obliged  to  ad- 
mit that  the  boy  had  arranged  things  very  decently. 
He  pursued  his  life  as  before,  the  absence  of  his 
daughter  making  no  change  in  his  habits.  He  died 
of  emotion  in  1830,  as  he  listened  to  a  troop  of  lads 

306 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Seigliere 

who  had  collected  under  his  windows  to  sing  the 
"  Marseillaise  "  and  break  a  few  of  his  window-panes. 

The  young  baron  entered  a  rich  plebeian  family, 
where  he  played  the  part  of  George  Dandin  returned. 
His  father-in-law  scoffed  at  the  titles  of  his  son  by 
marriage,  and  reproached  him  for  the  crown-pieces 
he  had  counted  out.  His  wife  called  him  M.  le  Ba- 
ron, and  made  game  of  him. 

Mme.  de  Vaubert  is  still  alive.  She  passes  her 
days  in  front  of  the  Chateau  de  la  Seigliere;  every 
night  she  dreams  that  she  is  changed  into  a  cat,  and 
that  she  sees  the  chateau  dancing  about  in  front 
of  her  in  the  form  of  a  mouse,  which  she  never  can 
reach  with  her  claws. 

After  her  father's  death,  Mile,  de  la  Seigliere 
disposed  of  all  her  wealth  in  favour  of  the  poor;  it 
is  even  said  that  the  chateau  itself  is  soon  to  be 
converted  into  an  almshouse. 


307 


THE   PORTRAITS   OF 
JULES   SANDEAU 


THE   PORTRAITS   OF 
JULES    SANDEAU 


JULES  SANDEAU  knew  how 
to  please — he  was  amiable. 
Even  in  his  old  age,  when 
laden  with  years  and  sor- 
row, he  still  won  the  affec- 
tion of  those  around  him 
by  his  inexhaustible  good- 
ness and  benevolence,  and 
by  the  fascinating  and  affa- 
ble manner  which  he  re- 
tained to  the  end  of  his 
days.  His  gentle  and  hon- 
est life,  made  beautiful  by 
love  and  art,  was  one  of 

constant  thought  for  others.  Kindness  came  natu- 
rally to  him.  During  the  whole  of  his  long  and 
arduous  literary  career,  by  word  and  deed,  he  ex- 
tended to  friends  and  strangers  alike  his  genial 
sympathy. 

His  biographers  have  told  of  the  charm  of  inter- 
course with  him,  of  the  transparent  nobility  of  his 
15— Vol.  7  311 


JULES   SANDEAU. 

After  a  drawing;  by  Collette, 
about  1865. 


The  Portraits  of  Jules   Sandeau 

soul,  dedicated  as  it  was  to  beauty  and  to  art.     All 
have  fallen  under  the  fascination  of  his  personality. 

Looking  at  the  excellent  portrait  engraved  by 
Lehmann  in  1850,  which  forms  the  frontispiece  of 
this  volume,  one  has  no  difficulty  in  understanding 
the  influence  possessed  by  a  man  endowed  with  such 

a  delicate  physique.  He 
was  then  in  his  thirtv- 
ninth  year,  in  the  prime 
of  his  strength,  at  the 
height  of  his  inspira- 
tion. 

The  face,  large  and 
regular,  breathes  a  ful- 
ness of  life,  a  suggestion 
of  sensuousness,  a  philo- 
sophic contentment  as 
of  one  loath  to  condemn 
other  men's  errors.  The  pure  and  beautiful  curve 
of  his  high  forehead  indicates  a  noble  sphere .  of 
thought.  The  clear  blue  eyes  are  infinitely  tender, 
with  a  caressing  fixity  of  expression  almost  feminine; 
the  nose  straight,  the  mouth  and  chin  voluptuous, 
and  on  either  side  of  the  face  hangs  the  light,  curl- 
ing hair.  It  is  a  sympathetic  and  highly  spiritual 
head,  which  at  the  same  time  suggests  a  likeness  to 
Flaubert  in  youth.  But  already  Sandeau's  hair  is 
growing  thinner.  He  is  thirty-nine  years  old.  He 
is  no  more  the  young  novelist  of  1831,  under  the  in- 

312 


JULES   SAJTDEAU. 

After  a  lithograph  by  Schultz, 
about  1870. 


The  Portraits  of  Jules  Sandeau 


fluence  of  Henri  de  Latouche  and  his  fellow-worker, 
the  young1  Baroness  Aurore  Dudevant,  afterwards 
George  Sand.  It  was  Sandeau  who  thus  christened 
the  authoress  of  Mauprat,  when  he  gave  her  the 
first  part  of  his  own  name.  Far-away  years !  Far- 
away memories  !  Glorious  youth  ! 

Our  regret  is  that  we  are  unable  to  give  a  pic- 
ture of  Sandeau  at  that  time,  when  he  was  slender  and 
beautiful,  no  doubt,  like  a  young  squire  of  romance. 

George  Sand  in  those  days,  when  finishing  with 
him  their  joint  novel, 
Rose  et  Blanche,  wrote 
at  the  end  those  bitter 
words  referring  to  their 
loves  :  "  Life  is  a  wicked 
book,  whose  pages  I 
would  not  willingly  read 
again." 

What  an  avowal  of 
pessimistic  faith !  But 
youth's  declarations  of 
faith  are  not  more  last- 
ing than  their  passions. 

Alfred  de  Musset  soon  became  aware  that  Mme. 
Sand's  affection  for  his  master  and  godfather  was  on 
the  wane.  Sandeau  himself  ended  by  forgetting  it. 
Literature  absorbed  him,  and  he  was  forming  many 
friendships.  Towards  1835  he  became  very  intimate 
with  Balzac.  Sandeau's  most  important  successes 

313 


JULES    SAXDEAU. 

After  a  photograph  by  Goupil, 
taken  in  1872. 


The   Portraits  of  Jules   Sandeau 

happened  at  this  time.  The  master-writer  of  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Sciglicrc  found  in  marriage  and  the 
birth  of  a  son  the  realization  of  the  most  cherished 
hopes  of  one  of  his  heroines,  Madeleine.  To  love, 
to  work,  to  dream,  to  hope — this  is  the  interpreta- 
tion of  Lehmann's  engraving. 

The  second  portrait  which  we  give  of  Sandeau  is 
from  a  drawing  by  (Toilette  (1865).  There  are  no 
intermediate  portraits.  It  is  already  Sandeau  in  the 
second  period  of  his  life — older,  with  features  more 
pronounced,  the  forehead  nearly  bald,  and  the  stiff 
carriage  of  a  morose  ex-colonel.  He  has  been  for 
seven  years  a  member  of  the  Academic  Franchise ; 
his  reputation  has  increased  ;  he  himself  has  become 
more  paternal  and  simple.  Instead  of  that  personal 
fascination,  which  he  no  longer  possesses,  he  strives 
to  substitute  a  courteous  welcome,  a  gentle  and 
kindly  exterior.  Seeming  to  pass  judgment  upon 
himself  at  this  time,  he  wrote  :  "  There  exists  one 
gift  of  nature  which  always  appears  to  me  to  hold 
the  first  place  in  the  intercourse  of  men — it  is  the 
art  of  pleasing.  I  would  willingly  apply  to  it  Mon- 
taigne's words  when  speaking  of  beauty.  Like 
beauty,  it  beguiles  and  carries  away  our  judgment 
with  an  authority  more  gentle  and  more  certain  than 
genius  herself.  It  insinuates  itself  into  the  depths 
of  the  soul  and  finds  none  to  oppose.  Thrice  blest 
is  he  who  is  gifted  with  it  at  his  birth." 

On  page  312  is  a  lithograph  of  Sandeau  at  sixty 
314 


The   Portraits  of  Jules   Sandeai, 


o/ 


years  of  age  that  was  done  by  Schultz  in  1870.  The 
venerable  head  is  held  erect.  The  delicate  painter  of 
nature  and  all  gentler  emotions  looks  without  flinch- 
ing and  with  a  certain  defiance  into  the  mysterious 
land  beyond.  Who  knows 
what  that  future  was  when 
seen ! 

On  page  313  is  a  photo- 
graph of  Sandeau  by  Gou- 
pil,  taken  in  1872.  He  looks 
gloomy  ;  his  neck  is  huge 
and  apoplectic,  his  body 
weighed  down  by  exces- 
sive corpulence.  Already 
he  is  tormented  by  that  ter- 
rible illness  which  was  also 
to  cause  the  death  of  his 
son.  Jules  Sandeau  worshipped  his  brilliant  sailor 
son,  who  had  had  command  in  the  eastern  seas  of 
the  frigate  Venus,  No  doubt  the  young  man  had 
contracted  in  those  far-off  countries  the  malady 
which  was  to  prove  fatal.  Never  did  his  father 
recover  from  the  blow.  A  photograph  of  the  year 
1874  bears  strongly  the  marks  of  this  great  sorrow. 
"  Why  should  I  need  to  take  care  of  myself,  now 
that  my  Jules  is  dead?"  he  had  said  to  Emile 
Augier,  his  intimate  friend. 

Thus  did  sorrow  darken  the  declining  years  of 
this  venerable  and  charming  old  man.      His   lumi- 

315 


JULES   SANDEAU. 

After  a  photograph  taken 
in  1874. 


The   Portraits   of  Jules   Sandeau 

nous  talent,  which  M.  Andr6  Theuriet  so  happily 
likened  to  one  of  those  beautiful  summer  days  of 
Limousin  or  Poitou,  had  lost  the  freshness,  the  pic- 
turesqueness  of  former  days. 

He  was  crushed  by  the  hand  of  sorrow.  His 
features  became  more  masculine,  his  manner  more 
grave.  His  eyes  alone  betrayed  the  subdued  fires  of 
the  past.  I  can  still  remember  him,  a  portly,  slow- 
moving  figure,  when  we  used  to  meet  on  the  bridge 
of  the  Saints- Peres  in  Paris  twenty  years  ago,  as  he 
was  returning  from  the  Galerie  Mazarine,  where  he 
was  librarian. 

His  veteran  face,  like  that  of  an  old  Crimean 
general,  seemed  to  restore  to  the  Academic  its  links 
with  the  past.  Resembling  in  his  carriage  that 
Marshal  de  Canrobert  who  lived  in  his  own  time,  he 
wore  his  garments  loose,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat 
after  the  fashion  of  Barbey  d'Aurevilly,  the  novelist 
of  Normandy.  His  face  was  puffy,  and  his  red,  large 
nose  appeared  like  a  tomato  beneath  the  blinking 
and  dulled  eyes. 

An  engraving  executed  in  Spain  a  short  time  be- 
fore his  death  is  the  last  picture,  according  to  the 
date  which  we  possess,  of  one  of  the  most  cultivated 
writers  of  romance  and  of  French  drama  in  the  nine- 
teenth century.  Sandeau,  with  his  impressionable 
nature  and  honest  character,  was  one  of  the  most 
upright  men  of  letters  of  our  rapid  age. 

In  summing  up  the  iconography  of  Jules  San- 
3'6 


The   Portraits  of  Jules  Sandeau 


deau,  we  find  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  por- 
trait by  Lehmann,  which  appears  as  the  frontispiece, 
his  portraits  all  represent  him 
in    his  later   years   under   the 
aspect  of  an  old  man  of  mili- 
tary bearing. 

It  was,  however,  his  way  of 
remaining  romantic,  and  pecul- 
iar to  himself ;  for  Feydeau, 
who  was  the  typical  writer  of 
Louis  Philippe's  reign,  said  he 
expressed  in  his  walk  and  car- 
riage the  provoking  swagger 


of  the  heroes  of  the  Algerian 


JULES   SANDEAU. 

After  an  engraving  made  in 
Spain   shortly   before   his 

death. 


conquest. 

The   Due   d'Aumale,  Jules 

Sandeaii's  colleague  at  the  Academic,  said  of  him, 
"  I  seem  always  to  think  that  he  has  fought  by  my 

side  in  Africa." 

OCTAVE   UZANNE. 


THE  END 


317 


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